BY   THE   SAME   AUTHOR 

The  Son  of  His  Father 

The  Men  Who  Wrought 

The  Golden  Woman 

The  Law- Breakers 

The  Way  of  the  Strong 

The  Twins  of  Suffering  Creek 

The  Night-Riders 

The  One- Way  Trail 

The  Trail  of  the  Axe 

The  Sheriff  of  Dyke  Hole 

The  Watchers  of  the  Plains 


WITH  EYES  WIDE  AND  STARING  SHE  LOOKED  ABOUT  HER 


THE  SON 
OF  HIS  FATHER 


BY 

RIDGWELL  CULLUM 

AUTHOR  OF 

"THE  MEN  WHO  WROUGHT," 

"THE  WAY  OF  THE  STRONG,"  "THE  NIGHT-RIDERS,' 

"THB  WATCHERS  OF  THI  PLAINS, "  ETC. 


Illustrations  by 
DOUGLAS   DUER 


PHILADELPHIA 

GEORGE  W.  JACOBS  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1915,  by 

GEORGE  W.  JACOBS  &  COMPANY 

Published  March,  1917 


All  rights  reserved 
Printed  in  U.  S.  A. 


TO 

G.  RALPH  HALL-CAINE 

WHOSE  SYMPATHY  WITH  MY  WORK  HAS  NEVER 

FAILED  TO  CHEER  ME  THROUGHOUT 

OUR  LONG  AND  VALUED 

FRIENDSHIP 


M506219 


viii  CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 


PAGE 


XX  THE  BOOM  IN  EARNEST 275 

XXI  A  TRIFLE 289 

XXII  ON  THE  TRAIL    ..........  300 

XXIII  IN  NEW  YORK    .     .     , 312 

XXIV  PREPARING  FOR  THE  FINALE 324 

XXV  THE  RESCUE 333 

XXVI  CASHING  IN 345 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

With  eyes  wide  and  staring  she  looked  about  her    .     Frontispiece 

Hazel  was  waiting  for  that  sign Facing  page  214 

He  drew  her  gently  towards  his  father    ....  354 


CHAPTER  I 

UNREPENTANT 

"  To  wine,  women  and  gambling,  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
four —  one  hundred  thousand  dollars.  That's  your  bill, 
my  boy,  and  —  I've  got  to  pay  it." 

James  Carbhoy  leaned  back  smiling,  his  half -humorous 
eyes  squarely  challenging  his  son,  who  was  lounging  in  a 
luxurious  morocco  chair  at  the  other  side  of  the  desk. 

As  the  moments  passed  without  producing  any  reply,  he 
reached  towards  the  cabinet  at  his  elbow  and  helped  him- 
self to  a  large  cigar.  Without  any  scruple  he  tore  the  end 
off  it  with  his  strong  teeth  and  struck  a  match. 

"Well?" 

Gordon  Carbhoy  cleared  his  throat  and  looked  serious. 
In  spite  of  his  father's  easy,  smiling  manner  he  knew  that  a 
crisis  in  his  affairs  had  been  reached.  He  understood  the 
iron  will  lying  behind  the  pleasant  steel-gray  eyes  of  his 
parent.  It  was  a  will  that  flinched  at  nothing,  a  will  that 
had  carved  for  its  owner  a  great  fortune  in  America's  most 
strenuous  financial  arena,  the  railroad  world.  He  also  knew 
the  only  way  in  which  to  meet  his  father's  challenge  with 
any  hope  of  success.  Above  everything  else  the  millionaire 
demanded  courage  and  manhood  —  manhood  as  he  under- 
stood it  —  from  those  whom  he  regarded  well. 

"  I'm  waiting." 

Gordon  stirred.     The  millionaire  carefully  lit  his  cigar. 


2  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"Put  that  way  it  —  sounds  rotten,  Dad,  doesn't  it?" 
Gordon's  mobile  lips  twisted  humorously,  and  he  also 
reached  towards  the  cigar  cabinet. 

But  the  older  man  intercepted  him.  He  held  out  a  box 
of  lesser  cigars. 

"  Try  one  of  these,  Gordon.  One  of  the  others  would 
add  two  dollars  to  your  bill.  These  are  half  the  price." 

The  two  men  smiled  into  each  other's  eyes.  A  great  de- 
votion lay  between  them.  But  their  regard  was  not  likely 
to  interfere  with  the  business  in  hand. 

Gordon  helped  himself.  Then  he  rose  from  his  chair. 
He  moved  across  the  handsome  room,  towering  enormously. 
His  six  feet  three  inches  were  well  matched  by  a  great  pair 
of  athletic  shoulders.  His  handsome  face  bore  no  traces 
of  the  fast  living  implied  by  the  enormous  total  of  his  debts. 
The  wholesome  tan  of  outdoor  sports  left  him  a  fine  speci- 
men of  the  more  brilliant  youth  of  America.  Then,  too, 
in  his  humorous  blue  eyes  lay  an  extra  dash  of  recklessness, 
which  was  probably  due  to  his  superlative  physical  advan- 
tages. He  came  back  to  his  chair  and  propped  his  vast 
body  on  the  back  of  it.  His  father  was  watching  him  affec- 
tionately. 

"Dad,"  he  exclaimed,  "I'm  — sorry." 

The  other  shook  his  head. 

"  Don't  say  that.  It's  not  true.  I'd  hate  it  to  be  true  — 
anyway." 

Gordon's  face  lit. 

"  You're  —  going  to  pay  it  ?  " 

"  Sure.  I'm  not  going  to  have  our  name  stink  in  our 
home  city.  Sure  I'm  going  to  pay  it.  But " 

"But  — what?" 

"  So  are  you." 


UNREPENTANT  3 

The  faint  ticking  of  the  bracket  clock  on  the  wall  sud- 
denly became  like  the  blows  of  a  hammer. 

"  I  —  I  don't  think  I  - 

Young  Gordon  broke  off.  His  merry  eyes  had  suddenly 
become  troubled.  The  crisis  was  becoming  acute. 

For  some  moments  the  millionaire  smoked  on  luxuri- 
ously. Then  he  removed  his  cigar  and  cleared  his  throat. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  shout.  That's  not  my  way,"  he  said 
in  his  easy,  deliberate  fashion.  "  Guess  folks  have  got  to 
be  young,  and  the  younger  they're  young  —  why,  the  better. 
I  was  young,  and  —  got  over  it.  You're  going  to  get  over 
it.  I  figure  to  help  you  that  way.  This  is  not  the  first  bill 
you've  handed  me,  but  —  but  it's  going  to  be  the  last. 
Guess  your  baby  clothes  can  be  packed  right  up.  Maybe 
they'll  be  all  the  better  for  it  when  you  hand  'em  on  to  — 
your  kiddie." 

The  trouble  had  passed  out  of  the  younger  man's  eyes. 
They  were  filled  with  the  humor  inspired  by  his  father's 
manner  of  dealing  with  the  affair  in  hand. 

"  That's  all  right,"  he  said.  "  I  seem  to  get  that  clear 
enough." 

"  I'm  glad."  The  millionaire  twisted  the  cigar  into  the 
corner  of  his  mouth.  "  We  can  pass  right  on  to  —  other 
things.  You've  been  one  of  my  secretaries  for  three  years, 
and  it  don't  seem  to  me  the  work's  worried  you  a  lot.  Still, 
I  put  you  in  early  thinking  you'd  get  interested  in  the  source 
of  the  dollars  you  were  handing  out  in  bunches.  Maybe  it 
wasn't  the  best  way  of  doing  it.  Still,  I  had  to  try  it.  You 
see,  it's  a  great  organization  I  control  —  though  you  may  not 
know  it.  I  control  more  millions  than  you  could  count  on 
your  fingers  and  toes,  and  they've  cost  me  some  mental  sweat 
gathering  'em  together.  Some  day  you've  got  to  sit  in  this 


4  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

chair  and  talk  over  this  'phone,  and  when  you  do  you'll  be 
—  a  man.  You  see,  I  don't  fancy  my  pile  being  invested  in 
cut  flowers  and  automobiles  for  lady  friends.  I  don't  seem 
to  have  heard  that  thousand-dollar  parties  to  boys  who  can't 
smoke  a  five-cent  cigar  right,  and  girls  who' re  just  out  for 
a  good  time  anyway,  are  liable  to  bring  you  interest  on  the 
capital  invested,  except  in  the  way  of  contempt.  And  five- 
thousand  dollar  apartments  are  calculated  to  rival  the  luxury 
of  Rome  before  its  fall.  Big  play  at  *  draw  '  and  '  auction  ' 
are  two  diseases  not  provided  for  amongst  the  cures  in  pat- 
ent med'cine  advertisements,  and  as  for  the  older  vintages 
in  wines,  they're  only  permissible  in  folks  who've  quit  wor- 
rying to  scratch  dollars  together.  None  of  these  things 
seem  to  me  good  business,  and  in  a  man  at  the  outset  of  his 
career  some  of  'em  are  —  immoral.  You've  had  your  pre- 
liminary run,  and  I'll  admit  you've  shown  a  fine  turn  of 
speed.  But  it  smacks  too  much  of  the  race-track,  and 
seems  to  me  quite  unsuited  to  the  hard  highroad  of  big 
finance  you're  destined  to  travel. 

"  Just  one  moment,"  he  went  on,  as,  with  flushing  cheeks 
and  half-angry  eyes,  his  son  was  about  to  break  in.  "  You 
haven't  got  the  point  of  this  talk  yet.  This  bill  you've 
handed  me  don't  figure  as  largely  in  it  as  you  might  guess. 
I've  thought  about  things  these  months.  I  don't  blame  you 
a  thing.  I'm  not  kicking.  The  fact  you've  got  to  grab 
and  get  your  hind  teeth  into  is  that  there  comes  a  time  when 
two  can't  spend  one  fortune  with  any  degree  of  amicability. 
It's  a  sort  of  proposition  like  two  dogs  and  a  bone.  Now 
from  a  canine  point  of  view  that  bone  certainly  belongs  to 
one  of  those  dogs.  No  two  dogs  ever  stole  a  bone  together. 
Consequently,  the  situation  ends  in  a  scrap,  and  it  isn't  al- 
ways a  cert,  that  the  right  thief  gets  the  bone.  How  it 


UNREPENTANT  5 

would  work  out  between  us  I'm  not  prepared  to  guess,  but, 
as  '  scrap '  don't  belong  to  the  vocabulary  between  us,  we'll 
handle  the  matter  in  another  way.  Seeing  the  fortune  — 
at  present  —  belongs  to  me,  I'll  do  the  spending  in  —  my 
own  way.  My  way  is  mighty  simple,  too,  as  far  as  you're 
concerned.  I'm  going  to  stake  you  all  you  need,  so  you 
can  get  out  and  find  a  bone  you  can  worry  on  your  own. 
That's  how  you're  going  to  pay  this  bill.  You're  going  to 
get  busy  quitting  play.  We  are,  and  always  have  been, 
and  always  will  be,  just  two  great  big  friends,  and  I'd  like 
you  to  remember  that  when  I  say  that  the  life  you're  living 
is  all  right  for  a  boy,  but  in  a  man  it  leads  to  dirty  ditches 
that  aren't  easy  climbing  out  of,  and  —  you  can't  do  clean 
work  with  dirty  hands.  When  you've  shown  me  you're 
capable  of  collecting  a  bone  for  your  own  worrying  —  why, 
you  can  come  right  back  here,  and  I'll  be  pleased  and  proud 
to  hand  over  the  reins  of  this  organization,  and  I'll  be 
mighty  content  to  sit  around  in  one  of  the  back  seats  and 
get  busy  with  the  applause.  Now  you  talk." 

Gordon  began  without  a  moment's  hesitation.  Some- 
thing of  his  heat  had  passed,  but  it  still  remained  near  the 
surface. 

"  Quite  time  I  did,"  he  cried  almost  sharply.  "  Look 
here,  father,  I  don't  think  you  meant  all  you  said  the  way 
your  talk  conveyed  it.  To  me  the  most  important  of  your 
talk  is  the  implied  immorality  of  my  mode  of  life.  Then 
the  inconsistent  fashion  in  which  you  point  my  way  towards 
—  big  finance/' 

His  eyes  lit  again.  They  had  suddenly  become  danger- 
ously bright. 

"  Here,  we're  not  going  to  quarrel,  nor  get  angry,"  he 
went  on,  gathering  heat  of  manner  even  in  his  denial. 


6  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  We're  too  great  friends  for  that,  and  you've  always  been 
too  good  a  sportsman  to  me,  but  —  but  I'm  not  going  to 
sit  and  listen  to  you  or  anybody  else  accusing  me  of  immor- 
ality without  kicking  with  all  my  strength! " 

He  brought  one  great  fist  down  on  the  desk  with  a  bang 
that  set  the  ink-wells  and  other  objects  dancing  perilously. 

"  I'm  not  angry  with  you.  I  couldn't  get  angry  with 
you,"  he  proceeded,  with  a  suppressed  excitement  that  added 
to  his  father's  smile ;  "  but  I  tell  you  right  here  I'll  not  stand 
for  it  from  you  or  anybody.  My  only  crime  is  spending 
your  money,  which  you  have  always  encouraged  me  to  do. 
From  my  university  days  to  now  my  whole  leisure  has  been 
given  up  to  athletics.  A  man  can't  live  immorally  and  win 
the  contests  I  have  won.  I  don't  need  to  name  them.  Box- 
ing, sculling,  running,  baseball,  swimming.  You  know  that. 
Any  sane  man  knows  that.  The  money  I've  spent  has  been 
spent  in  the  ordinary  course  of  the  life  to  which  you  have 
brought  me  up.  You  have  always  impressed,  on  me  the  great 
position  you  occupy  and  the  necessity  for  keeping  my  end 
up.  That's  all  I  have  to  say  about  my  debts,  but  I  have 
something  to  say  on  the x  subject  of  the  inconsistency  with 
which  you  censure  immorality  in  the  same  breath  as  you 
demand  my  immediate  plunge  into  the  mire  of  big  finance." 

He  paused  for  a  moment.  Then,  as  abruptly  as  it  had 
arisen,  his  heat  died  down,  and  gave  place  to  the  ready  hu- 
mor of  his  real  nature. 

"  Gee,  I  want  to  laugh !  "  He  sprang  from  his  seat  and 
began  to  pace  the  floor,  talking  as  he  moved.  His  father 
watched  him  with  twinkling,  affectionate  eyes.  "  Immoral- 
ity? Psha!  Was  there  ever  anything  more  immoral  than 
modern  finance?  You  imply  I  have  learned  nothing  of  your 
organization  in  the  three  years  I've  been  one  of  your  secre- 


UNREPENTANT  7 

taries.  Dad/'  he  warned,  "  I've  learned  enough  to  have  a 
profound  contempt  for  the  methods  of  big  corporations  in 
this  country,  or  anywhere  else.  It's  all  graft  —  graft  of 
one  sort  or  another.  Do  you  need  me  to  tell  you  of  it  ?  No, 
I  don't  think  so.  Twenty-five  millions  wouldn't  cover  the 
fortune  you've  made.  I  know  that  well  enough.  How  has 
it  been  made?  Here,  I'll  just  give  you  one  instance  of  the 
machinations  of  a  big  corporation.  How  did  you  gain  con- 
trol of  the  Union  Grayling  and  Ukataw  Railroad?  Psha! 
What's  the  use  ?  You  know.  You  hammered  it,  hammered 
it  to  nothing.  You  got  your  own  people  into  it,  and  sat  back 
while  they  ran  it  nearly  into  bankruptcy  under  your  orders. 
Then  you  bought.  Bought  it  right  up,  and  —  sent  it  ahead. 
Immoral?  It  makes  me  sweat  to  think  of  the  people  who 
must  have  lost  fortunes  in  that  scoop.  Immoral?  Why, 
I  tell  you,  Dad,  any  man  can  make  a  pile  if  he  sticks  to  the 
old  saw:  '  Don't  butt  up  against  the  law  —  just  dodge  it.' 
It's  only  difficult  for  the  fellow  who  remembers  his  Sunday- 
school  days.  So  far,  Dad,  I've  avoided  immorality.  I'm 
waiting  till  I  start  on  big  finance  to  become  its  victim. 
That's  my  talk.  Now  you  do  some." 

His  father  nodded.  Then  he  said  dryly,  "This  carpet 
cost  me  five  hundred  dollars,  that  chair  fifty.  Try  the  chair." 

Gordon  laughed  at  the  imperturbable  smile  on  his  father's 
face,  but  he  flung  his  great  body  into  the  chair. 

James  Carbhoy  deliberately  knocked  the  ash  from  his 
cigar.  It  was  many  years  since  he  had  received  such  a 
straight  talk  from  any  man.  Some  of  it  had  stung  —  stung 
sharply,  but  the  justice  or  injustice  of  it  he  set  aside.  His 
whole  mind  and  heart  were  upon  other  matters.  He  took 
no  umbrage.  He  swept  all  personal  feeling  aside  and  re- 
garded the  boy  whom  he  idolized. 


8  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  We've  both  made  some  talk/'  he  observed,  "  but  I  think 
the  last  word's  with  me.  I  don't  seem  to  be  sure  which  of 
us  has  put  up  the  bluff.  Maybe  we  both  have.  Anyway, 
right  here  and  now  I'm  going  to  call  your  hand.  I  offered 
you  a  stake.  You  say  it's  easy  to  make  a  pile.  Can  you 
make  a  pile  ?  " 

Gordon  shrugged. 

"Why,  yes.  If  I  follow  your  wish  and  embark  on  — 
big  finance.  And  —  forget  my  Sunday  school." 

The  millionaire  gathered  up  the  sheaf  of  loose  accounts 
on  the  desk  and  held  them  up.  His  smile  was  grim  and 
challenging. 

"  One  hundred  thousand  dollars  these  bills  represent. 
The  cashier  will  hand  you  a  check  for  that  amount.  Say, 
you've  shown  your  ability  to  spend  that  amount;  can  you 
show  your  ability  to  make  it  ?  " 

For  a  moment  the  boy's  blue  eyes  avoided  the  half-ironical 
smile  of  his  father's.  Then  suddenly  they  returned  the 
steady  gaze,  and  a  flush  spread  swiftly  over  his  handsome 
face.  Something  of  his  father's  purpose  was  dawning  upon 
him.  He  began  to  realize  that  the  man  who  had  made  those 
many  millions  was  far  too  clever  for  him  when  it  came  to 
debate.  He  squared  his  shoulders  obstinately  and  took  up 
the  challenge.  There  was  no  other  course  for  him.  But 
even  as  he  accepted  it  his  heart  sank  at  the  prospect. 

"  Certainly,"  he  cried.  "  Certainly  —  with  a  stake  to 
start  me." 

His  father  nodded. 

"  Sure.     That  goes,"  he  said. 

Then  he  laid  the  papers  on  the  desk,  and  his  whole  manner 
underwent  a  further  change.  His  eyes  seemed  to  harden 
with  the  light  of  battle.  There  was  an  ironical  skepticism 


UNREPENTANT  9 

in  them.  Even  there  was  a  shadow  of  contempt.  For  the 
moment  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  forgotten  that  the  man  before 
him  was  his  son,  and  regarded  him  merely  as  some  rival 
financier  seeking  to  beat  him  in  a  deal. 

"  I'll  hand  you  one  hundred  thousand  dollars.  That's 
your  stake.  This  is  the  way  you'll  pay  those  bills.  You'll 
leave  this  city  in  twenty- four  hours.  You  can  go  where  you 
choose,  do  what  you  choose.  But  you  must  return  here  in 
twelve  months'  time  with  exactly  double  that  sum.  I  make 
no  conditions  as  to  how  you  make  the  money.  That's  right 
up  to  you.  I  shall  ask  no  questions,  and  blame  you  for  nd 
process  you  adopt,  however  much  I  disapprove.  Then,  to 
show  you  how  certain  I  am  you  can't  do  it  —  why,  if  you 
make  good,  there's  a  half -share  partnership  in  my  organiza- 
tion waiting  right  here  for  you." 

"A  half-share  partnership?"  Gordon  repeated  incredu- 
lously. "  You  said  —  a  half-share  ?  " 

"  That's  precisely  what  I  said." 

All  of  a  sudden  the  younger  man  flung  back  his  head  and 
laughed  aloud. 

"  Why,  Dad,  I  stand  to  win  right  along  the  line  —  any- 
way," he  exclaimed. 

The  older  man's  eyes  softened. 

"  Maybe  it's  just  how  you  look  at  it." 

The  change  in  his  father's  manner  was  quite  lost  upon 
Gordon.  He  only  saw  his  enormous  advantage  in  this  one- 
sided bargain. 

"  Say,  Dad,  was  there  ever  such  a  father  as  I've  got  ?  "  he 
cried  exuberantly.  "  Never,  never !  But  you're  not  going 
to  monopolize  all  the  sportsmanship.  I  can  play  the  game, 
too.  I  don't  need  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  on  this 
game.  I  don't  need  twelve  months  to  do  it  in.  I'm  not 


io  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

going  to  cut  twelve  months  out  of  our  lives  together.  Six 
is  all  I  need.  Six  months,  and  five  thousand  dollars'  stake. 
That's  what  I  need.  Give  me  that,  and  I'll  be  back  with 
one  hundred  and  five  thousand  dollars  in  six  months'  time. 
I  haven't  a  notion  where  I'm  going  or  what  I'm  going  to 
do.  All  I  know  is  you've  put  it  up  to  me  to  make  good, 
and  I'm  going  to.  I'll  get  that  money  if  —  if  I  have  to  rob 
a  bank." 

The  boy's  recklessness  was  too  much  for  the  gravity  of 
the  financier.  He  sat  back  and  laughed.  He  flung  his  half- 
smoked  cigar  away,  and  in  a  moment  father  and  son  had 
joined  in  a  duel  of  loud-voiced  mirth. 

Presently,  however,  their  laughter  died  out.  The  mil- 
lionaire sprang  to  his  feet.  His  eyes  were  shining  with 
delight. 

"  I  don't  care  a  darn  how  you  do  it,  boy,"  he  cried.  "  As 
you  say,  it's  up  to  you.  You  see,  I've  got  over  my  Sunday- 
school  days,  as  you  so  delicately  reminded  me.  That's  by 
the  way.  But  there's  more  in  this  than  maybe  you  get  right. 
You're  going  to  learn  that  no  graft  can  turn  five  thousand 
dollars  into  one  hundred  thousand  in  six  months  without  a 
mighty  fine  commercial  brain  behind  it.  It's  that  brain 
I'm  looking  for  in  my  son.  Now  get  along  and  see  your 
mother  and  sister.  You've  only  got  twenty-four  hours' 
grace.  Leave  these  bills  to  me.  You're  making  a  bid  for 
the  greatest  fortune  ever  staked  in  a  wager,  and  things  like 
that  don't  stand  for  any  delay.  Get  out,  Gordon,  boy; 
get  out  and  —  make  good." 

He  held  one  powerful  hand  out  across  the  desk,  and  Gor- 
don promptly  seized  and  wrung  it. 

"  Good-by,  Dad,  and  —  God  bless  you." 


CHAPTER  II 

IN    CHASTENED    MOOD 

Of  course,  the  whole  thing  was  ridiculous.  Gordon  knew 
that.  No  one  could  know  it  better.  The  more  he  thought 
about  it  the  more  surely  he  was  certain  of  it.  He  told 
himself  that  he,  personally,  had  behaved  like  a  first-class 
madman  over  the  whole  affair.  How  on  earth  was  he  to 
make  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  six  months?  It 
couldn't  be  done.  That  was  all.  It  simply  couldn't  be  done. 
What  power  of  mischief  had  driven  him  to  charge  his  highly 
respectable  father  with  graft?  It  was  a  rotten  thing  to  do 
anyway.  And  it  served  him  right  that  it  had  come  back 
on  him  by  pointing  the  way  to  the  present  impossible  sit- 
uation. 

He  was  perfectly  disgusted  with  himself. 

But  after  a  while  he  began  to  chuckle.  The  thing  was 
not  without  an  atmosphere  of  humor  —  of  a  sort.  No  doubt 
his  friends  would  have  seen  a  tremendous  humor  in  the 
idea  of  his  making  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  under  any 
conditions. 

One  hundred  thousand  dollars !  What  a  tremendous  sum 
it  sounded  viewed  from  the  standpoint  of  his  having  to 
make  it.  He  had  never  considered  it  a  vast  sum  before. 
But  now  it  seemed  to  grow  and  grow  every  time  he  thought 
of  it.  Then  he  laughed.  What  stupid  things  "  noughts  " 
were.  They  meant  so  much  just  now,  and,  in  reality,  they 
mean  nothing  at  all. 


12  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

Oh,  dear.  The  whole  thing  was  a  terrible  trouble.  It 
was  worse.  It  was  a  tragedy.  But  —  he  mustn't  give  his 
friends  the  laugh  on  him.  That  would  be  the  last  straw. 
No.  The  whole  thing  should  remain  a  secret  between  his 
father  and  himself.  He  almost  broke  into  a  sweat  as  he 
suddenly  remembered  the  Press.  What  wouldn't  the  Press 
do  with  the  story.  The  son  and  heir  of  James  Carbhoy, 
the  well-known  multi-millionaire,  leaving  home  to  show  the 
world  how  to  make  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  record 
time!  A  stupendous  farce.  Then  the  swarm  of  reporters 
buzzing  about  him  like  a  cloud  of  flies  in  summer  time.  The 
prospect  was  too  depressing.  Think  of  the  columns  in  the 
Press,  especially  the  cheaper  Press.  They  would  haunt  him 
from  New  York  to  —  Timbuctoo ! 

It  couldn't  be  done.  He  felt  certain  that  in  such  circum- 
stances suicide  would  be  justifiable.  Thoughts  such  as  these 
swept  on  through  his  disturbed  brain  as  he  sped  up  Broad- 
way on  his  way  to  say  good-by  to  his  mother  and  sister. 
He  had  been  lucky  in  finding  his  father's  high-powered  auto- 
mobile standing  outside  the  palatial  entrance  of  the  tower- 
ing Carbhoy  Building.  Nor  had  he  the  least  scruple  in  com- 
mandeering it. 

His  visit  to  the  east  side  of  Central  Park  was  in  the  na- 
ture of  a  whirlwind.  He  had  no  desire  to  be  questioned, 
and  he  knew  his  young  sister,  Gracie,  too  well  to  give  her 
a  chance  in  that  direction.  Their  friends  were  wont  to  say 
that,  for  one  so  young  —  she  was  only  thirteen  —  she  was 
all  wit  and  intellect.  He  felt  that  that  was  because  she  was 
his  father's  daughter.  For  himself  he  was  positive  she  was 
all  precocity  and  impertinence.  And  he  told  himself  he  was 
quite  unprejudiced. 

As  for  his  mother,  she  was  one  of  those  gentle  Southern 


IN  CHASTENED  MOOD  13 

women  who  declare  that  no  woman  has  the  right  to  question 
the  doings  of  the  male  members  of  her  household,  and,  in 
spite  of  the  luxury  with  which  she  was  surrounded,  and 
which  she  never  failed  to  feel  the  burden  of  —  she  was 
originally  a  small  farmer's  daughter  —  still  yearned  for  that 
homely  meal  of  her  youth,  "  supper  " —  a  collation  of  coffee, 
cakes,  preserves  and  cold  meats. 

Experience  warned  him  that  he  must  give  her  no  inkling 
of  the  real  facts.  She  would  be  too  terribly  shocked  at  the 
revelation. 

So,  for  an  hour  or  more,  in  the  little  family  circle,  in  his 
mother's  splendid  boudoir,  he  talked  of  everything  but  his 
own  affairs.  Nor  was  it  until  he  was  in  the  act  of  taking  his 
leave  that  he  warned  them  both  that  he  was  leaving  the  city 
for  six  months.  He  felt  it  was  a  cowardly  thing  to  do,  but, 
having  fired  his  bombshell  in  their  midst,  he  fled  precipitately 
before  its  stunning  effect  had  time  to  pass  away. 

Off  he  sped,  the  automobile  urged  to  a  dangerous  speed,, 
and  it  was  with  a  great  sense  of  relief  that  he  finally  reached 
his  own  apartment  on  Riverside  Drive. 

Letting  himself  in,  he  found  his  man,  Harding,  waiting 
for  him. 

"  Mrs.  Carbhoy  has  been  ringing  you  up,  sir,"  he  said  in 
the  level  tones  of  a  well-trained  servant.  "  She  wants  to 
speak  to  you,  sir  —  most  important." 

Gordon  hardened  his  heart. 

"  Disconnect  the  'phone  then,"  he  said  sharply,  and  flung 
himself  into  a  great  settle  which  stood  in  the  domed  hall. 

"  Very  good,  sir." 

The  man  was  moving  away. 

"If  my  mother  or  sister  should  come  here,  I'm  out.  Send 
word  down  to  the  office  that  there's  no  one  in." 


14  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

The  valet's  face  was  quite  expressionless.  Gordon  Carb- 
hoy  had  his  own  way  of  dealing  with  his  affairs.  Harding 
understood  this.  He  was  also  devoted  to  his  master. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

He  vanished  out  of  the  hall. 

Left  alone  a  great  change  came  over  Gordon.  The  old 
buoyancy  and  humor  seemed  suddenly  to  fall  from  him. 
For  once  his  eyes  were  perfectly,  almost  painfully  serious. 
He  stared  about  him,  searching  the  remoteness  of  his  sur- 
roundings, his  eyes  and  thoughts  dwelling  on  the  luxury  of 
the  apartment  he  had  occupied  for  the  last  three  years.  It 
was  a  two-floored  masterpiece  of  builder's  ingenuity.  It 
was  to  be  his  home  no  longer. 

That  splendid  domed  hall  had  been  the  scene  of  many  in- 
nocent revels.  Yes,  in  spite  of  the  accusation  of  immoral- 
ity, his  parties  had  been  innocent  enough.  He  had  enter- 
tained the  boys  and  girls  of  his  acquaintance  royally,  but- 
innocently.  Well,  that  was  all  done  with.  It  was  just  a 
memory.  The  future  was  his  concern. 

The  future.  And  that  depended  on  his  own  exertions. 
For  a  moment  the  seriousness  of  his  mood  lifted.  Surely 
his  own  exertions  as  a  business  man  was  a  broken  reed 
to What  about  failure  ?  What  was  to  follow  —  fail- 
ure? He  hadn't  thought  of  it,  and  his  father  hadn't  spoken 
of  it. 

Suddenly  the  cloud  settled  again,  and  a  sort  of  panic  swept 
over  him.  Did  his  father  intend  to  —  kick  him  out?  It 

almost  looked  like  it.     And  yet Had  he  intended  this 

stake  as  his  last?  What  a  perfect  fool  he  had  been  to  re- 
fuse the  hundred  thousand  dollars.  Then,  in  a  moment, 
his  panic  passed.  He  was  glad  he  had  done  so  —  anyway. 

He  selected  a  cigar  from  his  case  and  sniffed  at  it.     He 


IN  CHASTENED  MOOD  15 

remembered  his  father's.  His  handsome  blue  eyes  were 
twinkling.  His  own  cigars  cost  half  a  dollar  more  than  his 
father's,  and  the  fact  amused  him.  He  cut  the  end  care- 
fully and  lit  it.  Then  he  leaned  back  on  the  cushions  and  re- 
signed himself  to  the  reflection  that  these  things,  too,  must 
go  with  the  rest.  They,  too,  must  become  a  mere  memory. 

"Harding!"  he  called. 

The  man  appeared  almost  magically. 

"  Harding,  have  you  ever  smoked  a  —  five-cent  cigar  ?  " 
he  inquired  thoughtfully. 

The  valet  cleared  his  throat. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  say,  sir,  I  haven't." 

"  Sorry?"     Gordon's  eyes  were  smiling. 

"  A  mere  figure  of  speech,  sir." 

"Ah  —  I  see.     They  must  be  —  painful." 

"  Very,  I  should  think,  sir.  But,  beg  pardon,  sir,  I  be- 
lieve in  some  —  ahem  —  low  places,  they  sell  two  for  five 
cents !  " 

'Two?  I  —  I  wonder  if  the  sanitary  authorities  know 
about  it." 

Gordon  smiled  into  the  serious  face  of  his  devoted  hench- 
man. Then  he  went  on  rapidly  — 

"  What  baggage  do  you  suggest  for  a  six  months'  trip  ?  " 

"  Europe,  sir?" 

"  No." 

"South,  sir?" 

"I  —  haven't  made  up  my  mind." 

"  General  then,  sir.  That'll  need  more.  There's  the 
three  large  trunks.  The  steamer  trunk.  Four  suit  cases. 
Will  you  need  your  polo  kit,  sir,  and  your ?  " 

Gordon  shook  his  head. 

"  Guess  your  focus  needs  adjusting.     Now,  suppose  you 


16  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

were  getting  a  man  ready  for  a  six  months'  trip  —  a  man 
who  smoked  those  two-for-five  cigars.  What  would  you 
give  him  ?  " 

Harding's  eyelids  flickered.     He  sighed. 

"  It  would  be  difficult,  sir.  I  shouldn't  give  him  clean 
under-garments,  sir.  I  should  suggest  the  oldest  suit  I  could 
find.  You  see,  sir,  it  would  be  waste  to  give  him  a  good 
suit.  The  axles  of  those  box  cars  are  so  greasy.  I'm  not 
sure  about  a  toothbrush." 

"  Your  focus  is  adjusting  itself." 

"  Yes,  sir,  thank  you,  sir." 

"  And  the  five-cent-cigar  man  ?  " 

Harding's  verdict  came  promptly. 

"  A  hand  bag  with  one  good  suit  and  ablutionary  uten- 
sils, sir.  Also  strong,  warm  under-garments,  and  a  thick 
overcoat.  One  spare  pair  of  boots.  You  see,  sir,  he  could 
carry  that  himself." 

"  Good,"  cried  Gordon  delightedly.  "  You  prepare  for 
that  five-cent-cigar  man.  Now  I  want  some  food.  Better 
ring  down  to  the  restaurant." 

'  Yes,  sir.  An  oyster  cocktail  ?  Squab  on  toast,  or  a 
little  pheasant?  What  about  sweets,  sir,  and  what  wine 
will  you  take  ?  " 

"Great  gods  no,  man!  Nothing  like  that.  Think  of 
your  five-cent-cigar  man.  What  would  he  have?  Why, 
sandwiches.  You  know,  nice  thick  ones,  mostly  bread. 
No.  Wait  a  bit.  I  know.  A  club  sandwich.  Two  club 
sandwiches,  and  a  bottle  of  domestic  lager.  Two  things  I 
hate  —  eternally.  We  must  equip  ourselves,  Harding.  We 
must  mortify  the  flesh.  We  must  readjust  our  focus,  and 
outrage  all  our  more  delicate  susceptibilities.  We  must  re- 
duce ourselves  to  the  requirements  of  the  five-cent-cigar  man, 


IN  CHASTENED  MOOD  17 

and  turn  a  happy,  smiling  world  into  a  dark  and  drear 
struggle  for  existence.  See  to  it,  good  Harding,  see  to  it." 

The  man  withdrew,  puzzled.  Used  as  he  was  to  Gordon's 
vagaries,  the  thought  of  his  master  dining  off  two  hideous 
club  sandwiches  and  a  bottle  of  domestic  lager  made  his 
staunch  stomach  positively  turn. 

His  perfect  training,  however,  permitted  of  no  verbal  pro-; 
test.  And  he  waited  on  the  diner  with  as  much  care  for 
punctilio  as  though  a  formal  banquet  were  in  progress. 
Then  came  another  violent  shock  to  his  feelings.  Gordon 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  with  a  sigh  of  amused  contentment. 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  get  me  a  —  five-cent  cigar, 
Harding ?"  he  demanded.  "Say,  I  enjoyed  that  food. 
That  unique  combination  of  chicken,  hot  bacon  and  —  and 
something  pickly  —  why,  it's  great.  And  as  for  domestic 
lager  —  it's  got  wine  beaten  a  mile.  Guess  I'm  mighty 
anxious  to  explore  a  —  five-cent  cigar." 

Harding  cleared  his  throat. 

"  I'll  do  my  best,  sir.  It  may  be  difficult,  but  I'll  do  my 
best.  I'll  consult  the  clerk  downstairs.  He  smokes  very 
bad  cigars,  sir." 

"  Good.     You  get  busy.     I'll  be  around  in  my  den." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  Harding  hesitated.  Then  with  an  unusual 
diffidence,  "  Coffee,  sir?  A  little  of  the  '48  brandy,  sir ?  " 

Gordon  stared. 

"  Can  I  believe  my  ears  ?  Spoil  a  dinner  like  that  with  — 
'48  brandy?  I'm  astonished,  Harding.  That  focus,  man; 
that  five-cent-cigar  focus !  " 

Gordon  hurried  off  into  his  den  with  a  laugh.  Harding 
gazed  after  him  with  puzzled,  respectful  eyes. 

Once  in  the  privacy  of  his  den,  half  office,  half  library, 
and  wholly  a  room  of  comfort,  Gordon  forgot  his  laugh. 


i8  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

His  mind  was  quite  made  up,  and  he  knew  that  a  long  even- 
ing's work  lay  before  him. 

He  picked  up  the  receiver  of  his  private  'phone  to  his 
father's  office  and  sat  down  at  the  desk. 

"Hello!  Hello!  Ah!  That  you,  Harker?  Splendid. 
Guess  I'm  glad  I  caught  you.  Working  late,  eh?  Sure. 
It's  the  way  in  er  —  big  finance.  Yes.  Got  to  lie  awake 
at  nights  to  do  the  other  feller.  Say.  No.  Oh,  no,  that's 
not  what  I  rang  you  up  for.  It's  about  —  finance.  Ha, 
ha !  It's  a  check  for  me.  Did  the  governor  leave  me  one  ? 
Good.  Five  thousand  dollars,  isn't  it?  Well,  say,  don't 
place  it  to  my  credit.  Get  cash  for  it  to-morrow,  and  send 

it  along  to Let  me  see.  Yes,  I  know.  You  send 

along  a  bright  clerk  with  it.  He  can  meet  me  at  the  Penn-* 
sylvania  Depot  to-morrow,  at  noon  —  sharp.  Yes.  In  the 
waiting-room.  Get  that?  Good.  So  long." 

"  That's  that,"  he  muttered,  as  he  replaced  the  receiver. 
"  Now  for  Charlie  Spiers." 

He  turned  to  the  ordinary  'phone,  picked  up  the  receiver, 
gave  the  operator  the  number,  and  waited. 

"  Hello!  Hello,  hello,  hello!  That  you,  Charlie? 
Bully.  I  wasn't  sure  getting  you.  Guess  my  luck's  right 

in.  How  are  you  ?  Goo No,  better  not  come  around 

to-night.  Fact  is,  I'm  up  to  my  back  teeth  packing  and 
things.  I've  got  to  be  away  awhile.  Business  —  impor- 
tant." He  laughed.  "Don't  get  funny.  It's  not  play. 
No.  Eh?  What's  that?  A  lady?  Quit  it.  If  there's  a 
thing  I  can't  stand  just  about  now  it's  a  suggestion  of  im- 
morality. I  mean  that.  The  word  '  immoral '  's  about 
enough  to  set  me  chasing  Broadway  barking  and  foaming 
at  the  mouth.  I  said  I'm  going  away  on  business,  and  it's 
so  important  that  not  even  my  mother  knows  where  I'm 


IN  CHASTENED  MOOD  19 

going.  Yes.  Ah,  I'm  glad  you  feel  that  way.  It's  se- 
rious. Now,  listen  to  me;  it's  up  to  you  to  do  me  a  kind- 
ness. I'm  going  to  write  the  mater  now  and  again.  But 
I  can't  mail  direct,  or  she'll  know  where  I  am,  see  ?  Well, 
I  can  send  her  mail  under  cover  to  you,  and  you  can  mail 
it  on  to  her.  Get  me?  Now,  that  way,  you'll  know  just 
where  I  am.  That's  so.  Well,  you've  got  to  swear  right 
along  over  the  wire  you  won't  tell  a  soul.  Not  the  gov- 
ernor, or  the  mater,  or  Gracie,  or  —  or  anybody.  No,  I 
don't  need  you  to  cuss  like  a  railroader  about  it.  Just  swear 
properly.  That's  it.  That's  fine.  On  your  soul  and  honor. 
Fine.  I'm  glad  you  added  the  '  honor '  racket,  it  makes 
things  plumb  sure.  Oh,  yes,  your  soul's  all  right  in  its  way. 
But Good-by,  boy.  I'll  see  you  six  months  from  to- 
day. No.  Too  busy.  So  long." 

Gordon  hung  up  the  receiver  and  turned  back  to  his  desk 
with  a  sigh.  He  opened  a  drawer  and  took  out  his  check- 
book, and  gave  himself  up  to  a  few  minutes  of  figures. 
There  was  not  a  great  deal  of  money  to  his  credit  at  the 
bank,  but  it  was  sufficient  for  his  purposes.  He  wrote  and 
signed  three  checks.  Then  he  tore  the  remaining  blanks 
up  and  flung  them  into  the  waste-basket. 

After  that  he  turned  his  attention  to  a  systematic  exami- 
nation of  his  papers.  It  was  a  long,  and  not  uninteresting 
process,  but  one  that  took  a  vast  amount  of  patience.  He 
tore  up  letter  after  letter,  photographs,  bills,  every  sort  of 
document  which  a  bachelor  seems  always  to  accumulate  when 
troubled  by  the  disease  of  youth. 

In  the  midst  of  his  labors  he  came  across  his  father's  pri- 
vate code  for  cable  and  telegraph.  It  brought  back  to  him 
the  memory  of  his  position  as  one  of  his  father's  secretaries. 
He  smiled  as  he  glanced  through  it.  It  must  be  sent  back 


20  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

to  the  office.  He  would  hand  it  to  the  clerk  who  brought 
him  his  money  in  the  morning.  So  he  placed  it  carefully 
in  the  inside  pocket  of  his  coat  and  continued  his  labors. 

Half  an  hour  later  Harding  appeared. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  he  said.  "  I  had  some  difficulty,  but  " 
—  he  held  up  an  oily-looking  cigar  with  a  flaming  label 
about  its  middle,  between  his  finger  and  thumb  — "  I  suc- 
ceeded in  obtaining  one.  I  had  to  take  three  surface  cars, 
and  finally  had  to  go  to  Fourth  Avenue.  It  was  a  lower 
place  than  I  expected,  sir,  seeing  that  it  was  a  five-cent  cigar." 

"  That  means  it  cost  me  twenty  cents,  Harding  —  unless 
you  were  able  to  transfer." 

Gordon  eyed  the  man's  expressionless  face  quizzically. 

"  I'm  sorry,  sir.     But  I  forgot  about  the  transfer  tickets." 

Gordon  sighed  with  pretended  regret. 

"  I'm  sure  guessing  it's  —  bad  finance.  We  ought  to  do 
better." 

"  I  could  have  saved  the  fares  if  I'd  taken  your  car,  sir," 
said  Harding,  with  a  flicker  of  the  eyelids. 

"  Splendid,  gasoline  at  thirteen  cents,  and  the  price  of 
tires  going  up." 

Gordon  drummed  on  the  desk  with  his  fingers  and  became 
thoughtful.  He  had  a  painful  duty  yet  to  perform. 

"  Harding,"  he  said  at  last,  with  a  genuine  sigh,  his  eyes 
painfully  serious.  "  We've  got  to  go  different  ways. 
You've  —  got  to  quit." 

The  valet's  face  never  moved  a  muscle. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Right  away." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Then  the  man  cleared  his  throat,  and  laid  the  oily-looking 
cigar  on  the  desk. 


IN  CHASTENED  MOOD  21 

"  I  trust,  sir,  I've  given  satisfaction?  " 

"  Satisfaction?  "  Gordon's  tone  expressed  the  most  cor- 
dial appreciation.  "  Satisfaction  don't  express  it.  I 
couldn't  have  kept  up  the  farce  of  existence  without  you. 
You  are  the  best  fellow  in  the  world.  Guess  it's  I  who 
haven't  given  satisfaction." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"Oh  — you  agree?" 

"  Yes,  sir.     That  is,  no,  sir." 

Harding  passed  one  thin  hand  across  his  forehead,  and 
the  movement  was  one  of  perplexity.  It  was  the  only  ges- 
ture he  permitted  himself  as  any  expression  of  feeling. 

"  I'm  going  away  for  six  months  —  as  a  five-cent-cigar 
man,"  Gordon  went  on,  disguising  his  regret  under  a  smile 
of  humor.  "  I'm  going  away  on  —  business." 

'  Yes,  sir."  The  respectful  agreement  came  in  a  monot- 
onous tone. 

"  So  you'll  —  just  have  to  quit.     That's  all." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Ye-es." 

"You  will  —  need  a  man  when  you  come  back,  sir?" 
The  eagerness  was  unmistakable  to  Gordon. 

"I  — hope  so." 

Harding's  face  brightened. 

"  I  will  accept  temporary  employment  then,  sir.  Thank 
you,  sir." 

Gordon  wondered.  Then  he  cleared  his  throat,  and  held 
out  two  of  the  checks  he  had  written. 

"  Here's  two  months'  wages,"  he  said.  "  One  is  your 
due.  Guess  the  other's  the  same,  only  —  it's  a  present. 
Now,  get  this.  You'll  need  to  see  everything  cleared  right 
out  of  this  shanty,  and  stored  at  the  Manhattan  deposit. 


22  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

When  that's  done,  get  right  along  and  report  things  to  my 
father,  and  hand  him  your  accounts  for  settlement.  All  my 
cigars  and  cigarettes  and  wine  and  things,  why,  I  guess  you 
can  have  for  a  present.  It  don't  seem  reasonable  to  me 
condemning  you  to  five-cent  cigars  and  domestic  lager. 
Now  pack  me  one  grip,  as  you  said.  I'll  wear  the  suit  I've 
got  on.  Mind,  I  need  a  grip  I  can  tote  myself  —  full." 
"  Very  good,  sir.  Thank  you,  sir.  Anything  else,  sir  ?  " 
"  Why,  yes."  Gordon  was  smiling  again.  "  Hand  this 
check  in  at  the  bank  when  it  opens  to-morrow,  and  get  me 
cash  for  it,  and  bring  it  right  along.  That's  all,  except 
you'd  better  get  me  another  disgusting  sandwich,  and  an- 
other bottle  of  tragedy  beer  for  my  supper.  There's  noth- 
ing else." 

With  a  resolute  air  Gordon  turned  back  to  his  work,  as, 
with  an  obvious  sigh  of  regret,  Harding  silently  withdrew. 


CHAPTER  III 

GORDON    ARRIVES 

Gordon  Carbhoy  sat  hunched  up  in  his  seat.  His  great 
shoulders,  so  square  and  broad,  seemed  to  fill  up  far  more 
space  than  he  was  entitled  to.  His  cheerful  face  showed  no 
signs  of  the  impatience  and  irritability  he  was  really  endur- 
ing. A  seraphic  contentment  alone  shone  in  his  clear  blue 
eyes.  He  was  a  picture  of  the  youthful  conviction  that  life 
was  in  reality  a  very  pleasant  thing,  and  that  there  did  not 
exist  a  single  cloud  upon  the  delicately  tinted  horizon  of  his 
own  particular  portion  of  it. 

In  spite  of  this  outward  seeming,  however,  he  was  by  no 
means  easy.  Every  now  and  again  he  would  stand  up  and 
ease  the  tightness  of  his  trousers  about  his  knees.  He  felt 
dirty,  too,  dirty  and  untidy,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  he 
had  washed  himself,  and  brushed  his  hair,  many  times  in 
the  cramped  compartment  of  the  train  devoted  to  that  pur- 
pose. Then  he  would  fling  himself  into  his  corner  again 
and  give  his  attention  to  the  monotonously  level  land- 
scape beyond  the  window  and  strive  to  forget  the  stale 
odor  so  peculiar  to  all  railroad  cars,  especially  in  summer 
time. 

These  were  movements  and  efforts  he  had  made  a  hundred 
times  since  leaving  the  great  terminal  in  New  York.  He 
had  slept  in  his  corner.  He  had  eaten  cheaply  in  the  dining- 
car.  He  had  smoked  one  of  the  delicious  cigars,  from  the 


24  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

box  which  the  faithful  Harding  had  secreted  in  his  grip,  in 
the  smoker  ahead.  He  had  read  every  line  in  the  magazines 
he  had  provided  himself  with,  even  to  the  advertise- 
ments. 

The  time  hung  heavily,  drearily.  The  train  grumbled, 
and  shook,  and  jolted  its  ponderous  way  on  across  the  vast 
American  continent.  It  was  all  very  tedious. 

Then  the  endless  stream  of  thought,  often  fantastic,  al- 
ways unconvincing,  always  leading  up  to  those  ridiculous 
cyphers  representing  one  hundred  thousand  dollars.  If  only 
they  were  numerals.  Nice,  odd  numerals.  He  was  a  firm 
believer  in  the  luck  of  odd  numbers.  But  no.  It  was  al- 
ways "  noughts."  Most  disgusting  "  noughts." 

He  yawned  for  about  the  thousandth  time  on  his  two 
days'  journey,  and  wondered  hopelessly  how  many  more 
times  he  would  yawn  before  he  reached  the  Pacific. 

Hello !  The  conductor  was  coming  through  again.  Go- 
ing to  tear  off  more  ticket,  Gordon  supposed.  That  tearing 
off  was  most  interesting.  He  wondered  if  the  ticket  would 
last  out  till  he  reached  Seattle.  He  supposed  so. 

Seattle!  The  Yukon!  The  Yukon  certainly  suggested 
fortune,  the  making  of  a  rapid  fortune.  But  how?  One 
hundred  thousand  dollars !  There  it  was  again. 

His  eyes  were  following  the  movements  of  the  rubicund 
conductor.  The  man  looked  enormously  self-satisfied,  and 
was  certainly  bursting  with  authority  and  adipose  tissue. 
He  wondered  if  he  couldn't  annoy  him  some  way.  It  would 
be  good  to  annoy  some  one.  He  closed  his  smiling  eyes  and 
feigned  sleep. 

The  vast  bulk  of  blue  uniform  and  brass  buttons  bore 
down  upon  him.  It  reached  his  "pew,"  dropped  into  the 
seat  opposite,  and  tweaked  him  by  the  coat  sleeve. 


GORDON  ARRIVES  25 

Gordon  opened  his  eyes  with  a  pretended  start. 

"  Where  are  we  ?  "  he  demanded  irritably. 

"  Som'eres  between  the  devil  an'  the  deep  sea,  I  guess," 
grinned  the  man.  "Your  —  ticket." 

Gordon  began  to  fumble  slowly  through  his  pockets.  He 
knew  precisely  where  his  ticket  was,  but  he  searched  care- 
fully and  deliberately  in  every  other  possible  place.  The 
man  waited,  breathing  heavily.  He  displayed  not  the  slight- 
est sign  of  the  annoyance  desired.  At  last  Gordon  turned 
ojut  the  inside  pocket  of  his  coat.  The  first  thing  he  dis- 
covered amongst  its  contents  was  his  father's  private  code 
book,  and  the  annoyance  was  in  his  eyes  rather  than  in  those 
of  the  conductor.  His  resolve  to  return  it  had  been  entirely 
forgotten. 

He  forthwith  produced  his  ticket. 

'  The  devil's  behind  us,  I  s'pose,"  said  Gordon.  "  Any- 
way, we're  told  it's  the  right  place  for  him.  I'll  be  glad 
when  we  reach  the  sea." 

The  conductor  examined  the  ticket,  while  Gordon  returned 
the  code  book  to  his  pocket. 

"  Ah,  Seattle,"  the  brassbound  official  murmured.  Then 
he  looked  into  the  now  smiling  face  before  him.  "  You  ain't 
for  Snake's  Fall?" 

"  Guess  I  shouldn't  have  paid  for  a  ticket  to  Seattle  if  I 
were,"  Gordon  retorted  with  some  sarcasm. 

:(  That's  so,"  observed  the  official,  quite  undisturbed.  "  I 
knew  one  guy  was  for  Seattle.  I  was  kind  o'  wondering 
'bout  him.  Se-attle,"  he  murmured  reflectively. 

"  On  the  coast.  A  seaport.  Puget  Sound,"  said  Gordon 
objectionably. 

"A  low  down  sailor  town  on  the  side  of  a  hill,  wher'  if 
you  ain't  climbin'  up  you're  mostly  fallin'  down.  Wher'  it 


26  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

rains  nigh  six  months  o'  the  year,  an'  parboils  you  the  rest. 
Wher'  every  bum  going  to  or  coming  from  the  Yukon  gets 
thoroughly  soused  and  plays  the  fool  gener'ly." 

The  man's  retort  was  as  pointedly  objectionable  as  Gor- 
don's had  been,  and  the  challenge  of  it  stirred  the  latter's 
sense  of  humor. 

"  Guess  I'm  one  of  the  bums  *  going  to/  "  he  said  cheer- 
fully. The  man's  fat-surrounded  eyes  ceased  to  grin. 

"  Startin'  f er  the  Yukon  in  —  July  ?  Never  heard  of  it/' 
he  said,  with  a  shake  of  the  head.  "  It's  as  ridiculous  as 
startin'  fer  hell  in  summer  time.  You'll  make  Alaska  when 
she  freezes  up,  and  sit  around  till  she  opens  next  spring. 
Say " 

"You  mean  I'll  get  hung  up  for  —  ten  months?"  cried 
Gordon  aghast. 

"  Jest  depends  on  your  business." 

"  Yes,  of  course." 

Gordon's  heart  sank  as  the  man  grunted  up  from  his  seat, 
and  handed  him  back  his  mutilated  ticket.  He  watched  him 
pass  on  down  the  car  and  finally  vanish  through  the  door- 
way of  the  parlor-car  beyond.  Then  his  eyes  came  back  to 
his  surroundings.  He  stared  at  the  heads  of  his  fellow 
travelers  dotting  the  tops  of  the  seats  about  him.  Then  his 
eyes  dropped  to  his  grip  on  the  opposite  seat  lying  under  his 
overcoat,  and  again,  later,  they  turned  reflectively  towards 
the  window.  Ten  months.  Ten  months,  and  he  only  had 
six  before  him  in  which  to  accomplish  his  purpose.  Was 
there  ever  a  more  perfect  imbecile?  Was  there  ever  such 
a  fool  trick? 

A  smile  of  chagrin  grew  in  his  eyes  as  he  remembered  how 
he  had  arrived  at  the  Pennsylvania  Depot,  and  had  studied 
the  list  of  places  to  which  he  could  go,  seeking  to  find  in 


GORDON  ARRIVES  27 

the  names  an  inspiration  for  the  accomplishment  of  his  pur- 
pose. There  had  been  so  many  that  his  amazed  head  had 
been  set  whirling.  There  he  had  stood,  wondering  and 
gawking  like  some  foolish  country  "  Rube/'  without  one 
single  idea  beyond  the  fact  that  he  must  go  somewhere  and 
make  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  six  months'  time. 

Then  had  come  that  one  illuminating  flash.  He  saw  the 
name  in  great  capital  letters  in  an  advertisement.  "  The 
Yukon."  Of  course.  It  was  the  one  and  only  place  in  the 
world  for  quick  fortunes,  and  forthwith  he  had  booked  his 
passage  to  Seattle. 

Nor  was  he  likely  to  forget  his  immense  satisfaction  when 
he  heard  Harding' s  respectful  "  Yes,  sir,"  in  response  to  his 
information.  Now  he  certainly  was  convinced  that  he  was 
own  brother  to  the  finest  bred  jackass  in  the  whole  wide 
world.  However,  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  go  on 
to  Seattle.  He  had  paid  for  his  ticket,  and,  Providence 
willing,  to  Seattle  he  would  go. 

But  Providence  had  its  own  ideas  upon  the  matter. 
Furthermore,  Providence  began  at  once  to  set  its  own  ma- 
chinery working  in  his  behalf.  It  was  the  same  Providence 
that  looks  after  drunken  men  and  imbeciles.  Half  an  hour 
later  it  impelled  him  to  gather  up  his  traps  and  pass  for- 
ward into  the  smoker,  accompanied  by  one  of  his  own  big, 
expensive  cigars. 

He  pushed  his  way  into  the  car  through  the  narrow  door 
of  communication.  A  haze  of  tobacco  smoke  blurred  his 
view,  but  at  once  he  became  aware  of  a  single,  melancholy, 
benevolent  eye  gazing  steadily  at  him. 

It  was  an  amiable  eye  and  withal  shrewd.  Also  it  was 
surrounded  by  a  shaggy  dark  brow.  This  had  a  fellow, 
too,  but  the  eye  belonging  to  the  fellow  was  concealed  be- 


28  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

neath  what  was  intended  to  be  a  flesh-tinted  cover,  secured 
in  place  by  elastic  round  its  owner's  head. 

The  surrounding  face  was  rugged  and  weather  tanned. 
And  it  finished  with  a  mop  of  iron-gray  hair  at  one  end, 
and  an  aggressively  tufted  chin  beard  at  the  other.  But  the 
thrusting  whisker  could  not  disguise  the  general  strength  of 
the  face. 

Below  this  was  a  spread  of  large  body  clad  in  a  store 
suit  of  some  pretensions,  but  of  ill  fit,  and  a  heavy  gold 
watchchain  and  a  large  diamond  pin  in  the  neckwear  sug- 
gested opulence.  Furthermore,  One  Eye  suggested  the 
prime  of  middle  life,  and  robust  health  and  satisfaction. 

There  was  only  one  other  occupant  of  the  car.  He  was 
two  or  three  seats  away,  across  the  aisle.  He  promptly 
claimed  Gordon's  attention.  He  was  amusing  himself  by- 
shooting  "  crap  "  on  a  baize-covered  traveling-table.  Both 
men  were  smoking  hard,  and,  by  the  density  of  the  atmos- 
phere, and  the  aroma,  the  newcomer  estimated  that  they, 
unlike  himself,  were  not  five-cent-cigar  men. 

He  paused  at  the  dice  thrower's  seat  and  watched  the 
proceedings.  The  man  appeared  not  to  notice  his  approach 
at  all,  and  continued  to  labor  on  with  his  pastime,  carrying 
on  a  muttered  address  to  the  obdurate  "  bones." 

"  Come  '  sev/  "  he  muttered  again  and  again,  as  he  flung 
the  dice  on  the  table  with  a  flick  of  the  fingers. 

But  the  "  seven "  would  not  come  up,  and  at  last  he 
raised  a  pair  of  keen  black  eyes  to  Gordon's  face. 

"  Cussed  things,  them  durned  bones,"  he  said  briefly,  and 
went  on  with  his  play. 

Gordon  smiled. 

"  It's  like  most  things.     It's  luck  that  tells." 

The  player  grinned  down  at  the  dice  and  redded  agree- 


GORDON  ARRIVES  29 

ment,  while  he  continued  his  muttered  demands.  Gordon 
flung  his  traps  into  another  seat,  and  sat  himself  down  op- 
posite the  man.  Crap  dice  never  failed  to  fascinate  him. 

The  melancholy  benevolence  of  One  Eye  remained  fixed 
upon  the  pair. 

The  seven  refused  to  come  up,  and  finally  the  player  de- 
sisted. 

"  Sort  of  workin'  calculations,"  he  explained,  with  an 
amiable  grin.  "  An'  they  don't  calc  worth  a  cent.  As  you 
say,  the  hull  blamed  thing  is  chance.  Sevens,  or  any  other 
old  things  '11  just  come  up  when  they  darned  please,  and 
neither  me  nor  any  other  feller  can  make  'em  come  — 
playin'  straight/' 

The  man  bared  his  gold-filled  teeth  in  another  amiable 
grin.  And  Gordon  fell. 

His  unsuspicious  mind  was  quite  unable  to  appreciate  the 
obvious  cut  of  the  man.  The  rather  flashy  style  of  his 
clothes.  The  keen,  quick,  black  eyes.  The  disarming  in- 
genuousness of  his  manner  and  speech.  These  things  meant 
nothing  to  him.  The  men  he  knew  were  as  ready  to  win  or 
lose  a  few  hundred  dollars  on  the  turn  of  a  card  as  they 
were  to  drink  a  cocktail.  The  thought  of  sharp  practice  in 
gambling  was  something  which  never  entered  their  heads. 

He  drew  out  a  dollar  bill  and  laid  it  on  the  table.  The 
sight  of  it  across  the  aisle  made  One  Eye  blink.  But  the 
black-eyed  stranger  promptly  covered  it,  and  picked  up  the 
dice.  He  shook  them  in  the  palm  of  his  hand  and  spun 
them  on  the  baize,  clipping  his  fingers  sharply. 

"  Come  '  sev/  "  he  muttered. 

The  miracle  of  it.  The  seven  came  up  and  he  swept 
in  the  two  dollars.  In  a  moment  he  had  replaced  them  with 
a  five-dollar  bill.  Gordon  responded. 


3o  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  I'll  take  two  dollars  of  that/'  he  said,  and  staked  his 
money. 

The  man  spun  the  dice,  and  a  five  came  up.  Then  it  was 
Gordon's  turn  to  talk  to  the  dice,  calling  on  them  for  a  seven 
each  time  the  man  threw.  The  play  became  absorbing,  and 
One  Eye,  from  across  the  aisle,  craned  forward.  The  seven 
came  up  before  the  five,  and  Gordon  won,  and  the  dice 
passed. 

The  game  proceeded,  and  the  luck  alternated.  Then  Gor- 
don began  to  win.  He  won  consistently  for  awhile,  and 
nearly  twenty  dollars  had  passed  from  the  stranger's  pocket 
to  his. 

It  was  an  interesting  study  in  psychology.  Gordon  was 
utterly  without  suspicion,  and  full  of  boyish  enthusiasm. 
His  blue  eyes  were  full  of  excited  interest.  He  followed 
each  throw,  and  talked  the  jargon  of  the  game  like  any 
gambler.  All  his  boredom  with  the  journey  was  gone. 
His  quest  was  thrust  into  the  background.  Nothing  trou- 
bled him  in  the  least.  The  joy  of  the  rolling  dice  was  on 
him,  and  he  laughed  and  jested  as  the  wayward  "  bones  " 
defied  or  acquiesced  to  his  requirements. 

The  stranger  was  far  more  subtle.  For  a  big  powerful 
man  he  possessed  absurdly  delicate  hands.  He  handled  the 
dice  with  an  expert  touch,  which  Gordon  utterly  lacked.  He 
talked  to  the  dice  as  they  fell  in  a  manner  quite  devoid  of 
enthusiasm,  and  as  though  muttering  a  formula  from  mere 
habit.  He  grumbled  at  his  losses,  and  remained  silent  in 
victory,  and  all  the  while  he  smoked,  and  smoked,  and 
watched  his  opponent  with  furtive  eyes. 

One  Eye  watched  the  game  from  the  corner  without  a 
sign. 

A  stranger,  on  his  way  through  the  car,  paused  to  watch 


GORDON  ARRIVES  31 

the  game.  Presently  he  passed  on,  and  then  returned  with 
another  man. 

After  awhile  Gordon's  luck  began  to  wane.  His  twenty 
dollars  dropped  to  fifteen.  Then  to  ten.  Then  to  five. 
The  stranger  threw  a  run  of  "  sevens."  Then  the  dice 
passed.  But  Gordon  lost  them  again,  and  presently  the 
five  dollars  he  was  still  winning  passed  out  of  his  hands. 

From  that  moment  luck  deserted  him  entirely.  The 
stranger  threw  a  succession  of  wins.  Gordon  increased  his 
stakes  to  five-dollar  bills.  Now  and  again  he  pulled  in  a 
win,  but  always,  it  seemed,  to  lose  two  successive  throws 
immediately  afterwards.  There  were  times  when  it  seemed 
impossible  to  wrest  the  dice  from  his  opponent.  Whenever 
he  held  them  himself  he  lost  them  almost  immediately. 

"  Seventy-five  dollars,  that  makes,"  he  said,  after  one  such 
loss.  "  They're  going  your  way,  sure." 

"  It's  the  luck  of  things,"  replied  the  stranger  laconically. 

One  Eye  across  the  aisle  smiled  to  himself,  and  abandoned 
his  craning. 

Gordon  plunged.  He  doubled  his  bits  with  the  abandon 
of  youth  and  inexperience.  And  the  stranger  never  failed 
to  tempt  him  that  way  when  they  were  his  dice.  He  al- 
ways laid  more  stake  than  he  believed  his  opponent  would 
accept. 

The  hundred  dollars  was  reached  and  passed  in  Gordon's 
losses.  Still  the  game  went  on.  He  passed  the  hundred 
and  fifty  —  and  then  Providence  stepped  in. 

By  this  time  a  number  of  onlookers  had  gathered  in  the 
car.  The  place  was  full  of  smoke.  They  were  standing 
in  the  aisle.  They  were  sitting  on  the  arms  of  the  seats  of 
the  two  players.  One  or  two  were  leaning  over  the  backs 
of  the  seats. 


32  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

Suddenly  the  speeding  train  jolted  heavily  over  some 
rough  points.  It  swayed  for  a  moment  with  a  sort  of  deep- 
sea  roll.  The  onlooker  seated  on  the  arm  of  the  stranger's 
seat  was  jerked  from  his  balance  and  sprawled  on  the  player. 
In  his  efforts  to  save  himself  he  grabbed  at  the  table,  which 
promptly  toppled.  The  gambler  made  a  lunge  to  save  it,  and, 
in  the  confusion  of  the  moment,  a  second  pair  of  crap  dice, 
identical  with  the  pair  Gordon  was  about  to  shoot,  rolled  out' 
of  his  hand. 

Just  for  an  instant  there  was  a  breathless  pause  as  Gordon 
pounced  on  them.  Then  one  word  escaped  him,  and  his  face 
went  deathly  white  as  he  glared  furiously  at  the  man  across 
the  table. 

"Loaded!" 

One  Eye  again  craned  forward.  But  now  the  patch  was 
entirely  removed  from  his  second  eye. 

The  next  part  of  Providence's  little  game  was  played 
without  a  single  word.  One  great  fist  shot  out  from  Gor- 
don's direction,  and  its  impact  with  its  object  sounded  dull 
and  sodden.  The  gambler's  head  jolted  backwards,  and  he 
felt  as  though  his  neck  had  been  broken.  Then  the  baize- 
covered  table  was  projected  across  the  car  by  Gordon's  other 
great  hand,  while  the  spectators  fled  in  the  direction  of  the 
doorways,  and  pushed  and  scrambled  their  ways  through. 

Then  ensued  a  wild  scene.  The  animal  was  stirred  to 
offense  with  a  sublime  abandon. 

One  Eye  remained  in  his  corner,  his  eyes  alight  with  an 
appreciation  hardly  to  have  been  expected,  contemplating 
humorously  the  tangle  of  humanity  as  it  moved,  with  light- 
ning rapidity,  all  over  the  car.  Once,  as  the  battle  swayed 
in  his  direction,  he  even  moved  his  traps  under  the  seat,  lest 
their  bulk  should  incommode  the  combatants, 


GORDON  ARRIVES  33 

For  a  moment,  at  the  outset,  the  two  men  appeared  to  be 
a  fair  match.  But  the  impression  swiftly  passed.  The 
youth,  the  superb  training,  the  skill  of  Gordon  became  like 
the  sledge-hammer  pounding  of  superior  gunnery  in  war- 
fare. He  hit  when  and  where  he  pleased,  and  warded  the 
wilder  blows  of  his  opponent  with  almost  unconcern.  But 
the  narrowness  of  the  aisle  and  the  presence  of  the  seats 
saved  the  gambler,  and  both  men  staggered  and  bumped  about 
in  a  way  that  deprived  Gordon  of  much  of  the  result  of  his 
advantage. 

The  train  began  to  slow  up.  One  Eye  glanced  appre- 
hensively out  of  the  window.  He  gathered  up  his  belong- 
ings, and  picked  up  the  litter  of  money  scattered  on  the  floor. 

Then  he  sat  watching  the  fight  —  and  his  opportunity. 

The  men  had  closed.  Regardless  of  all,  they  fought  with 
a  fury  and  abandon  as  cordial  as  it  now  became  unscientific. 
The  gambler,  clinging  to  his  opponent,  strove  to  ward  off 
the  blows  which  fell  upon  his  features  like  a  hailstorm.  Gor- 
don, with  superlative  ferocity,  was  bent  on  leaving  them  un- 
recognizable. It  was  a  bloody  onslaught,  but  no  more 
bloody  than  Gordon  intended  it  to  be.  He  was  stirred  now, 
a  young  lion,  fighting  for  the  only  finish  that  would  satisfy 
him. 

One  Eye's  opportunity  came.  He  made  a  run  for  the 
door  as  the  train  pulled  up  with  a  jolt. 

But  the  fight  went  on.  The  stopping  of  the  train  con- 
veyed nothing  to  the  fighting  men.  Neither  saw  nor  cared 
that  one  of  the  doors  was  suddenly  flung  open.  Neither 
saw  the  rush  of  men  in  uniform.  The  invasion  of  their 
ring  by  the  train  crew  meant  nothing  to  them. 

Then  something  happened. 


CHAPTER  IV 

GORDON   LANDS   AT   SNAKE'S    FALL 

Gordon  sat  up  and  rubbed  his  eyes.  Then  one  blood- 
stained hand  went  up  to  his  head,  and  its  fingers  passed 
through  his  ruffled  hair.  It  smoothed  its  way  down  one 
cheek,  and  finally  dropped  to  the  ground  on  which  he  was 
sitting. 

Where  was  he  ? 

Suddenly  he  became  aware  of  the  metal  track  in  front  of 
him,  and  —  remembered.  He  glanced  down  the  track.  Far 
in  the  distance  he  could  see  the  speeding  train.  Then  his 
eyes  came  back  to  his  immediate  surroundings,  and  discov- 
ered that  he  was  sitting  on  the  boarded  footway  of  a  small 
country  railroad  depot. 

How  did  he  get  there?     How  on  earth  did  he  get  there? 

As  no  answer  to  his  mute  inquiry  was  forthcoming  he 
explored  further.  He  discovered  that  his  grip  and  overcoat 
were  beside  him,  also  his  hat.  And  some  distance  away  a 
number  of  loungers  were  idly  watching  him,  with  a  smile  of 
profound  amusement  on  every  face. 

The  latter  discovery  filled  him,  with  a  swiftly  rising  re- 
sentment, and,  grabbing  his  hat  and  thrusting  it  on  his  head, 
he  leaped  to  his  feet.  He  had  no  intention  of  permitting 
amusement  at  his  expense. 

"  I  guess  you  sure  had  some  good  time,"  said  a  deep, 
musical  voice  at  his  elbow. 

Gordon  swung  about  and  stood  confronting  the  man,  One 


GORDON  LANDS  AT  SNAKE'S  FALL    35 

Eye,  whom  he  had  seen  in  the  train.  For  a  moment  he 
had  it  in  mind  to  make  some  furiously  resentful  retort.  But 
the  man's  appearance  held  his  curiosity  and  diverted  his  pur- 
pose. The  patch  had  been  removed  from  his  second  eye, 
which  now  beamed  upon  him  in  company  with  its  fellow. 

"  Guess  these  are  yours,"  the  man  went  on,  thrusting  a  roll 
of  bills  out  towards  him.  "  That  '  sharp  '  dropped  his  wad 
during  the  scrap.  I  hated  to  think  a  grafting  train  boss  was 
goin'  to  collect  it.  You  see,  I  guessed  how  that  scrap  would 
end/' 

"  Are  they  mine?  "  Gordon  was  not  quite  sure  he  wasn't 
dreaming. 

"  Mostly." 

The  stranger's  reply  was  full  of  dry  humor.  Suddenly 
Gordon's  eyes  lit. 

"  Where  is  that '  sharp  '  ?     I  haven't  done  with  - 

The  stranger  pointed  after  the  train. 

"  You'll  need  to  hustle  some." 

The  anger  died  out  of  Gordon's  eyes  and  he  began  to 
laugh.  With  some  diffidence  he  accepted  the  money. 

"  Say,  it's  —  mighty  decent  of  you,"  he  cried  cordially. 
Then,  for  want  of  better  means  of  expression,  "  Mighty 
decent." 

The  two  men  stood  steadily  regarding  each  other.  Tall 
and  broad  as  Gordon  was,  the  stranger  was  no  less.  But  he 
added  to  his  stature  the  massiveness  of  additional  years. 

Gordon's  feelings  were  under  perfect  control  now.  His 
eyes  began  to  brighten  with  their  native  humor.  He  was 
longing  to  solve  the  mystery  of  that  eye-shade  which  had  dis- 
appeared from  his  companion's  face,  but  was  constrained  to 
check  his  curiosity. 

"You  said  you  guessed  how  the  scrap  would  end?"  he 


36  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

said.  "  There's  a  sort  of  blank  in  my  —  memory.  I  mean 
about  the  finish." 

The  big  stranger  began  to  rumble  in  his  throat.  To  Gor- 
don the  sound  was  comforting -in  its  wholesome  enjoyment. 

"  It  don't  need  a  heap  of  guessing  when  a  train  '  sharp/ 
who's  got  the  conductor  grafted  from  his  brassbound  cap 
to  the  soles  of  his  rotten  feet,  gets  into  a  scrap  how  things 
are  going  to  end.  I'd  sort  of  hoped  you'd  '  out '  him  before 
the  crew  come  along.  Guess  you'd  have  done  it  if  there'd 
been  more  room.  That's  the  worst  of  scrappin'  in  a  rail- 
road car,"  he  added  regretfully.  "  That  train  boss  got  along 
with  his  crew  and  threw  you  out  —  on  your  head.  They 
kept  the  '  sharp '  aboard,  being  well  grafted,  and  figgered  to 
hold  up  your  baggage.  I  guessed  diff'rently.  That  all 
your  baggage  ?  "  he  inquired  anxiously. 

Gordon  gazed  down  at  the  grip  and  coat. 

"  That's  all,"  he  said.  Then  he  impulsively  threw  out  a 
hand,  and  the  stranger  took  it.  "  It's  decent  —  mighty 
decent  of  you,"  Again  his  buoyant  laugh  rang  out.  "  Say, 
I  surely  do  seem  to  have  had  some  good  time." 

The  twinkling  eyes  of  the  stranger  nearly  closed  up  in  a 
cordial  grin. 

"  Seems  to  me  you're  fixed  here  till  to-morrow,  anyway. 
There  ain't  any  sort  of  train  west  till  then.  You  best  come 
along  over  to  the  hotel.  They  call  it  '  hotel '  hereabouts. 
I'm  goin'  that  way." 

Gordon  agreed,  gathered  up  his  property,  and  fell  in  be- 
side his  companion. 

They  moved  across  the  track,  and  as  they  went  he  caught 
some  impression  of  the  ragged  little  prairie  town  at  which 
he  had  so  inadvertently  arrived.  There  seemed  to  him  to 
be  but  a  single,  unpaved  street,  consisting  of  virgin  prairie 


GORDON  LANDS  AT  SNAKE'S  FALL    37 

beaten  bare  and  hard  by  local  traffic.  This  was  lined  on  one 
side  by  a  fringe  of  wooden  houses  of  every  size  and  condi- 
tion, with  gaps  here  and  there  for  roads,  yet  to  be  made, 
turning  out  of  it.  These  houses  were  mostly  of  a  com- 
mercial nature.  Back  of  this  he  vaguely  understood  there 
to  be  a  sparse  dotting  of  other  houses,  but  their  purpose  and 
arrangement  remained  a  mystery  to  him.  Still  farther  afield 
he  beheld  the  green  eminence  of  foothills,  and  still  farther 
on,  away  in  the  distance,  the  snowy  ramparts  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains.  The  town  seemed  to  occupy  only  one  side  of  the 
track  —  the  south  side.  The  depot  was  beyond  it,  on  the 
other. 

They  picked  their  way  across  the  track  and  debouched 
upon  the  Main  Street,  the  name  of  which  Gordon  discov- 
ered painted  in  indifferent  characters  upon  a  disreputable 
signboard.  Then  they  turned  westwards  in  the  direction 
of  an  isolated  building  rather  larger  than  anything  else  in  the 
village. 

After  awhile,  as  his  companion  made  no  further  effort 
at  conversation,  Gordon's  interest  and  curiosity  refused  to 
permit  the  continued  silence. 

"What  State  are  we  in?"  he  inquired. 

"  Montana." 

Gordon  glanced  quickly  at  his  companion. 

"What  place  is  this?" 

"  Snake's  Fall." 

The  announcement  set  Gordon  laughing. 

"What's  amiss  with  Snake's  Fall?"  inquired  the  other 
sharply. 

"  Why,  nothing.  I  was  just  thinking.  You  see,  the  con- 
ductor told  me  'most  everybody  was  making  for  Snake's  Fall 
on  the  train.  I'm  sorry  that '  sharp  '  wasn't.  Say " 


38  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"What?" 

Gordon  laughed  again. 

"  I  remember  you  in  the  smoker,  only  —  you  seemed  to 
have  a  —  a  patch  over  your  left  eye." 

"  Sure." 

"  Now  you  haven't  got  it  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  I'm  not  curious,  only " 

The  stranger's  eyes  lit  ironically. 

"  Sure  you  ain't.  That's  the  hotel.  Peter  McSwain's. 
He's  the  boss.  He's  a  friend  of  mine,  an'  I  guess  he'll  fix 
you  right  for  the  night." 

The  snub  was  decided  but  gentle.  The  man's  deep,  musi- 
cal voice  contained  no  suggestion  of  displeasure.  How- 
ever, he  had  made  the  other  feel  that  he  had  been  guilty  of 
unpardonable  rudeness. 

He  was  reduced  to  silence  for  the  rest  of  the  journey  to 
the  hotel,  and  gave  himself  up  to  consideration  of  this  new 
position  in  which  he  now  found  himself.  The  one  great 
fact  that  stood  out  in  his  mind  was  that  he  had  gained  an- 
other day  on  the  wrong  side  of  his  ledger,  and,  however 
wrong  he  had  been  in  his  first  attempt  at  fortune,  his  course 
had  been  hopelessly  diverted  into  a  still  more  impossible 
channel.  The  absurdity  of  the  situation  inclined  him  to 
amusement,  but  the  knowledge  of  the  real  seriousness  of  it 
held  him  troubled. 

As  they  neared  the  hotel  his  curiosity  further  made  itself 
felt.  The  place  was  an  ordinary  frame  building  with  a  ve- 
randa. It  was  square  and  squat,  like  a  box.  It  was  two- 
storied,  with  windows,  five  in  all,  and  a  center  doorway. 
These  were  dotted  on  the  face  of  it  like  raisins  in  a  pud- 
ding. Its  original  paint  was  undoubtedly  white,  but  that 


GORDON  LANDS  AT  SNAKE'S  FALL    39 

seemed  to  have  long  since  succumbed  to  the  influence  of  the 
weather,  and  now  suggested  a  hopeless  hue  which  was  any- 
thing but  inspiriting. 

Leaning  against  the  door-casing,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  was 
a  smallish,  florid  man  with  ruddy  hair.  His  waistcoat  was 
almost  as  cheerful  as  his  face,  and,  judging  by  the  sound 
of  his  voice  as  he  talked  to  a  number  of  men  lounging  on 
the  veranda,  the  latter  quite  matched  the  pattern  of  his 
violently  checked  trousers. 

"  That's  Peter,"  remarked  One  Eye,  the  name,  failing  a 
better,  Gordon  still  thought  of  his  companion  by.  "  He's 
a  bright  boy,  is  Peter,"  he  added,  chuckling. 

"The  proprietor  of  the  —  hotel?"  said  Gordon,  inter- 
ested. 

"  Sure." 

Then  a  hail  reached  them  from  the  veranda. 

"  Got  back,  Silas?  "  cried  the  loud-voiced  hotel-keeper. 

"  Just  what  you  say  yourself,"  retorted  Silas  amiably. 
"  Seems  to  me  I  bought  a  ticket  and  just  got  off  the  train. 
Still,  ther'  ain't  nothing  certain  in  this  world  except  — 
graft." 

"  That's  so,"  laughed  the  other.  "  Still,  ther'  ain't  much 
of  a  shadow  'bout  you,  so  we'll  take  it  as  real.  Who's  your 
friend?" 

The  hotel-keeper  eyed  Gordon  with  a  view  to  trade. 
The  man  called  Silas  laughed  and  turned  to  Gordon. 

"  Guess  I  didn't  get  your  name.  Mine's  Mallinsbee  — 
Silas  Mallinsbee.  I'm  a  rancher,  way  out  ther'  in  the  foot- 
hills." 

Gordon  thought  for  a  moment.  Then  he  decided  to  use 
two  of  his  given  names  in  preference  to  his  father's. 

"  Mine's  Gordon  Van  Henslaer.     Glad  to  meet  you." 


40  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  Van  Henslaer  ?  "  Mallinsbee's  eyes  twinkled.  "  Guess 
the  first  and  last  letters  on  your  grip  are  spare.  Kind  of  be- 
long back  east.  How-do  ?  "  Then,  without  waiting  for  a 
reply,  he  turned  to  McSwain  and  the  men  on  the  veranda 
who  were  interestedly  surveying  Gordon.  "  This  is  Mister 
Gordon  Van  Henslaer  from  New  York.  Thought  he'd  like 
to  break  his  journey  west  and  get  a  look  around  Snake's 
Fall." 

Gordon  laughed. 

"  I  was  persuaded  at  the  last  minute,"  he  added.  "  Can 
you  let  me  have  a  room  ?  " 

McSwain  became  active. 

"  Sure.  Guess  we're  pretty  busy  these  times,  with  the 
town  gettin'  ready  to  boom.  But  I  guess  I  ken  fix  any 
friend  of  Silas  Mallinsbee.  Ther's  a  room  they  calculated 
makin'  into  a  bathroom  back  of  the  house,  but  some  slick 
Alec  figured  the  boys  of  Snake's  Fall  were  prejudiced,  so  cut 
it  out.  It's  small,  but  we  got  a  bed  fixed  ther',  an'  you 
ken  clean  yourself  at  the  trough  out  back.  Come  right 
along  in." 

Gordon  was  half  inclined  to  protest,  but  Mallinsbee's 
voice  came  opportunely  — 

"  I  told  you  Peter  'ud  fix  you  right.  I've  slept  in  that 
room  myself,  and  you'll  find  it  elegant  sleeping  if  you  don't 
get  a  nightmare  and  get  jumping  around.  We'll  go  right 


m." 


Gordon's  protest  died  on  his  lips.  Mr.  Mallinsbee  had  a 
persuasion  all  his  own.  There  was  a  humorous  geniality 
about  him  that  was  quite  irresistible  to  the  younger  man, 
nor  could  he  forget  the  manner  in  which  he  had  helped  him 
after  the  debacle  on  the  train.  He  felt  that  it  would  have 
been  churlish  to  refuse  his  good  offices. 


GORDON  LANDS  AT  SNAKE'S  FALL   41 

They  passed  into  the  building.  The  office  was  plainly 
furnished.  A  few  Windsor  chairs,  a  table,  an  empty  stove, 
a  few  nigger  pictures  on  the  walls,  and  a  large  register  for 
guests'  names.  This  was  the  whole  scheme. 

Gordon  flung  down  his  grip. 

"  Well,  I'm  thankful  to  be  off  that  train,  anyway/'  he 
said.  "Sign  here,  eh?"  as  Peter  threw  the. book  towards 
him.  "  Say,"  he  added,  glancing  at  the  list  of  names  above 
his,  "  you  sure  are  busy." 

Peter  grinned  complacently,  while  Mallinsbee  looked  on. 

"  You've  hit  this  city  at  the  psychological  moment  in  its 
history,  sir,"  he  declared  expansively.  "  You've  hit  it,  sir, 
when,  if  I  ken  be  allowed  to  use  the  expression,  the  snow's 
gone  an'  all  the  earth's  jest  bustin'  with  new  life.  You've 
hit  it,  sir,  when  fortunes  are  just  going  to  start  right  into 
full  growth  with  all  the  impetus  of  virgin  soil.  Snake's 
Fall,  sir,  is  about  to  become  the  greatest  proposition  in  the 
Western  States,  as  a  sure  thing  for  soaking  dollars  into  it. 
And  here,  sir,  standing  right  at  your  elbow,  is  the  courage, 
enterprise  and  intellect  that's  made  it  that  way.  Mr.  Silas 
Mallinsbee  is  the  father  of  this  city,  sir;  he's  more  —  he's 
the  creator  of  it.  And,  sir,  I  congratulate  you  on  the 
friendship  of  such  a  man,  a  friendship,  sir,  in  which  I  have 
the  honor  to  share." 

He  grabbed  a  filthy  piece  of  blotting-paper  and  dabbed  it 
cheerfully  over  Gordon's  name  in  the  book,  while  the  latter 
smiled  at  the  monument  of  enterprise  himself. 

"  I  was  quite  unaware "  he  began.  But  Mallinsbee 

cut  him  short. 

"  Peter's  a  good  feller,"  he  declared,  "  but  some  seven 
sorts  of  a  galoot  once  told  him  he  ought  to  go  into  Con- 
gress, and  he's  been  talking  ever  since.  Ther's  jest  one 


42  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

thing  '11  stop  Peter  talking,  and  that's  orderin'  a  drink. 
Which  I'm  doin'  right  now.  Peter,  you'll  jest  hand  us  two 
cocktails.  Your  specials.  And  take  what  you  like  your- 
self." 

Peter  accepted  the  order  with  alacrity.  His  admiration 
of  and  friendship  for  Mallinsbee  could  not  be  doubted  for 
a  moment.  And  somehow  Gordon  felt  it  was  a  good  sign. 
He  returned  in  a  few  moments  with  the  cocktails,  and  a 
glass  of  rye  whiskey  for  himself. 

"  I  know  a  better  play  than  my  special  cocktails,"  he  said, 
a  huge  wink  distorting  most  of  his  ginger-hued  features. 
"  They're  all  right  for  customers,  but  I  ain't  no  use  fer  pick' 
lin'  my  liver.  How?" 

"  Here's  to  the  extermination  of  all  '  sharps/  "  said  Mall- 
insbee in  his  deep,  rolling  voice,  and  with  a  meaning  glance 
in  Gordon's  direction. 

Gordon  nodded. 

"  And  here's  to  the  confusion  of  graft  and  grafters." 

All  three  drank  and  set  their  glasses  down. 

"Graft?"  said  Mallinsbee  thoughtfully.  Then  he 
shrugged  his  massive  shoulders  and  laughed.  "  It's  not  a 
heap  of  use  blaming  grafters  for  their  graft.  They  can't 
help  it,  any  more  than  you  can  help  scrappin'  when  a  feller 
hits  your  wad  on  the  crook.  Graft  —  why,  I  just  hate  to 
think  of  the  ways  of  graft.  But  you  can't  get  through  life 
without  it ;  anyway,  not  life  on  this  earth.  I  used  to  think 
graft  a  specialty  of  this  country,  but  guess  I  was  wrong.  I'd 
localized.  It  don't  belong  to  any  one  country  more  than  an- 
other. It  belongs  to  life;  to  our  human  civilization.  It's 
the  time  limit  of  life  causes  the  trouble.  Nature  makes  it 
a  cinch  we've  all  got  to  be  rounded  up  in  the  get-rich-quick 
corral.  We  start  life  foolish.  Then  for  a  while  we  get  a 


GORDON  LANDS  AT  SNAKE'S  FALL   43 

sight  more  foolish.  Then  for  a  few  mousy  years  we  take 
on  quite  a  nice  bunch  of  sense.  After  that  we  start  getting 
foolish  again,  and  then  the  time  limit  comes  right  down  on 
the  backs  of  our  necks  like  an  ax.  Well,  I  guess  those 
years  of  sense  are  so  mighty  few  we've  got  to  get  rich  quick 
against  the  time  we  start  on  the  foolish  racket  again,  and 
graft,  of  one  sort  or  another,  is  the  short  cut  necessary. 

"  You  see,  there's  every  sort  of  graft.  All  through  life 
we're  looking  around  for  something  we  ain't  got.  Did  you 
ever  see  a  kid  around  his  parents?  Graft;  it's  all  graft. 
No  kiddy  ever  acted  right  because  he  fancied  that  way. 
He's  lookin'  ahead  fer  something  he's  needing,  and  his  pop 
or  his  momma  are  the  folks  to  pass  it  along  to  him.  Did 
you  ever  know  a  kid  take  his  physic  without  the  promise  of 
candy,  or  the  certainty  it  would  come  his  way?  That's 
graft.  Say,  ain't  the  gal  you  fancy  the  biggest  graft  of  all? 
You  don't  get  nowhere  with  her  without  graft.  She'll  eat 
up  everything  you  can  hand  her,  from  automobiles  and  jewels 
down  to  five-cent  candy.  Then  when  you've  started  getting 
old  and  sick  and  foolish  again,  having  grafted  a  pile  out  of 
life  yourself,  don't  every  grafter  you  ever  knew  come 
around  an'  hand  you  cures  and  listen  to  your  senile  wisdom 
just  as  though  they  thought  you  the  greatest  proposition  ever 
and  hated  to  see  you  sick?  That's  graft.  You've  got  a 
pile  and  they're  needin'  it." 

The  twinkle  in  the  big  man's  eyes  while  he  was  talking 
found  a  joyous  response  in  Gordon's.  The  tongue  in  the 
cheek  of  this  native  of  Snake's  Fall  pleased  him  mightily. 
But  the  wide-eyed  sunset  of  Peter  McSwain's  features  was 
one  of  sober  earnestness  and  admiration. 

"Gee!"  he  cried,  with  prodigious  appreciation.  "He 
orter  write  a  book!  " 


CHAPTER  V 

A   LETTER   HOME 

The  bathroom  proved  to  be  a  veritable  rabbit  hutch, 
though  clean.  But  Gordon  was  astonished  to  find  how  far 
the  old  life  had  fallen  away  behind  him.  The  bareness  of 
the  room  did  not  disturb  him  in  the  least,  and,  after  a  wash 
in  the  trough  at  the  back  of  the  hotel,  and  having  dried  him- 
self on  a  towel  that  may  have  seen  cleaner  days,  and  refused 
to  be  inveigled  by  the  attraction  of  an  unclean  comb,  se- 
curely tied  to  a  defective  mirror  in  the  passage  to  the  back 
door,  he  came  back  to  his  bedroom  with  an  added  apprecia- 
tion for  its  questionable  luxury. 

Mallinsbee  had  ridden  off  on  a  great  chestnut  horse,  nor, 
until  Gordon  saw  him  in  the  saddle,  was  he  definitely  able 
to  classify  him  in  his  mind.  Big  as  the  amiable  stranger 
was,  he  sat  in  the  saddle  as  though  he  had  been  born  in  it, 
and  he  handled  his  horse  as  only  a  cattle  man  can. 

At  supper-time  he  had  an  opportunity  of  studying  some- 
thing of  his  fellow  guests  in  the  house.  They  were  a  mixed 
gathering,  but  every  table  in  the  dining-room  was  full  to 
overflowing.  Certainly  McSwain  was  justified  in  his  claim 
to  a  rush  of  business. 

It  was  quickly  obvious  to  Gordon  that  these  people  were 
by  no  means  natives  of  the  place.  The  majority  were  un- 
doubtedly business  men.  Shrewd,  keen  men  of  the  specula- 
tive type,  judging  from  the  babel  of  talk  going  on  about  him. 


A  LETTER  HOME  45 

As  far  as  he  could  make  out  the  whole  interest  of  the  place 
was  land.  Land  —  always  land  —  and  again  land. 

In  view  of  Mallinsbee's  friendship  Peter  McSwain  had 
requested  him  to  sit  beside  him  at  his  especial  table.  And 
he  forthwith  began  to  question  his  host. 

"  Seems  to  be  a  big  talk  of  land  going  on/'  he  said,  as  he 
ate  his  macaroni  soup. 

Peter  gulped  violently  at  a  long  tube  of  macaroni  and 
nearly  choked. 

"  Sure/'  he  said,  his  eyes  wide  with  an  expression  the 
meaning  of  which  Gordon  was  never  quite  certain  about. 
It  might  have  meant  mere  astonishment,  but  it  also  sug- 
gested resentment.  "  Sure  it's  land.  What  else,  unless  it's 
coal,  would  they  talk  in  Snake's  Fall?  Every  blamed  fel- 
ler you  see  settin'  around  in  this  room  is  what  Silas  Mallins- 
bee  calls  a  ground  shark.  Which  means,"  he  added,  with  a 
grin,  "  they're  out  to  buy  or  steal  land  around  Snake's  Fall. 
We  guess  they  prefer  stealing.  The  place  is  bung  full  with 


'em.' 


Gordon's  interest  deepened. 

"But  why,  if  you'll  forgive  me,  around  —  Snake's 
Fall?" 

*  Young  man,"  said  Peter  severely,  "  you're  new  to  the 
place,  and  that's  your  excuse  for  such  ignorance."  He 
pushed  his  half -finished  soup  aside  and  adopted  an  im- 
pressive pose  with  both  elbows  on  the  table,  his  hands  to- 
gether, and  one  finger  describing  acrobatic  gyrations  to  point 
his  words.  The  manner  of  it  fascinated  his  hearer.  "  Let 
me  tell  you,  sir,  that  Snake's  Fall  is  the  new  coalfield  of 
this  great  country.  Sir,"  he  added,  with  great  dramatic 
effect,  "  Snake's  Fall  is  capable  of  supplying  the  coal  of 
the  world!  There's  hundreds  of  billions  of  tons  of  high- 


46  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

grade  coal  underlying  these  silly-lookin'  hummocks  they  call 
the  foothills.  All  this  land  around  Snake's  Fall  was  Silas 
Mallinsbee's  ranch,  and  he  found  the  coal.  That's  why  I 
said  Silas  Mallinsbee  was  the  father  of  Snake's  Fall.  He 
sold  this  land  to  a  great  coal  corporation,  and  bought  land 
away  further  up  in  the  hills,  where  he  still  runs  his  ranch. 
He's  a  great  man  with  a  pile  of  dollars.  And  he's  clever, 
too.  He's  kep'  for  himself  all  the  land  either  side  of  the 
railroad,  except  this  town.  And  that's  why  all  these  land 
pirates,  or  ground  sharks,  are  around.  The  railroad  ain't 
declared  their  land  yet,  and  everybody's  waiting  to  jump  in. 
The  coal's  five  miles  west  of  here,  and  the  railroad  has  got 
to  say  if  they'll  keep  the  depot  where  it  is,  or  build  a  new 
one  further  along,  right  on  the  coal  seams.  That's  the  play 
we're  all  watching.  We  want  to  buy  right.  We  want  to1 
buy  for  the  boom.  These  guys  here  are  out  to  get  in  on 
the  ground  floor,  and  see  prices  go  sky  high  —  when  they've 
bought.  There'll  be  some  dandy  piles  made  in  this  play  — 
and  lost." 

By  the  time  he  had  finished  Gordon  was  agog  with  ex- 
citement. It  had  stirred  as  the  man  began  to  talk,  without 
his  fully  understanding  the  meaning  of  it.  Then,  as  he 
proceeded,  it  grew,  and  with  its  growth  came  enlightenment. 
Vaguely  he  saw  the  hand  of  Providence  in  the  affairs  of  the 
last  few  days. 

He  had  planned  his  own  little  matters,  or  rather  he  had 
drifted  into  them,  and  then  the  gods  of  fortune  had  taken 
a  hand.  And  the  way  of  it.  He  began  to  smile.  A 
strangely  impish  mood  must  have  stirred  them.  His  jour- 
ney. His  discovery  of  the  absurdity  of  his  own  plans  in 
the  nick  of  time.  His  visit  to  the  smoker.  His  play  with 
a  "  sharp."  His  fight,  and  his  sudden  and  uncalculated  ar- 


A  LETTER  HOME  47 

rival  at  Snake's  Fall.  Here  he  was,  quite  without  the  least 
intention  of  his  own,  landed  into  the  only  sort  of  place  in 
which  it  could  be  reasonably  hoped  he  might  pick  up  a 
fortune  quickly.  He  wondered  how  he  was  likely  to  fare 
in  competition  with  these  ground  sharks  about  him.  And 
the  thought  made  him  begin  to  laugh. 

McSwain  eyed  him  doubtfully. 

"  Amusin',  ain't  it  ?  "  he  said,  without  appreciation. 

Gordon  shook  his  head. 

"If  you  only  knew  —  it  is." 

Peter  went  on  with  his  food  for  a  few  moments  in  silence. 

"I  s'pose  the  boom  will  come  big  when  it  does  start?" 
hazarded  Gordon  presently. 

"  Big?  Say,  you  ain't  got  a  grip  on  things  yet.  Snake's 
Fall  could  supply  the  whole  —  not  half  —  world  with  high- 
grade  stove  coal.  Does  that  tell  you  anything?  No? 
Wai,  it  jest  means  that  when  the  railroad  says  the  word, 
hundred-dollar  plots  '11  fetch  a  thousand  dollars  in  a  week, 
and  maybe  ten  thousand  in  a  month  or  less.  I  tell  you  right 
here  that  in  six  months  from  the  time  the  railroad  talks 
there'll  be  fifty  thousand  speculators  right  here,  and  we'll 
most  of  us  rake  in  our  piles.  We  only  got  to  jump  in  at 
the  start,  maybe  a  bit  before,  and  the  game's  right  in  our 
hands.  Get  me?  I  tell  you,  sir,  this  is  bigger  than  the 
first  Kootenay  rush  and  nigh  as  big  as  the  Cobalt  boom  in 
Canada." 

Gordon  was  impressed. 

"  And  to  think  I  came  here  by  accident." 

"Accident?" 
'  You  see,  I  was  persuaded  —  against  my  will." 

His  eyes  were  twinkling. 

"  Ah,  Mallinsbee  persuaded  you  —  being  a  friend  of  his." 


48  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  No.  As  a  matter  of  fact  I  think  it  was  the  train  con- 
ductor who  persuaded  me." 

"  He's  a  wise  guy,  then." 

"  Ye-es.  I  don't  guess  I'll  see  him  again.  I  surely  owe 
him  something  for  what  he  did." 

Peter  nodded  seriously  as  he  gazed  at  the  humorous  eyes 
of  his  companion. 

"He's  given  you  the  chance  of  —  a  lifetime,  sir.  And 
that's  a  thing  ther'  ain't  many  in  this  country  yearning 
to  do." 

After  that  the  meal  progressed  in  silence  until  the  pie 
was  handed  round. 

Gordon  was  thinking  hard.  He  was  wondering,  in  view 
of  what  he  had  heard,  what  he  ought  to  do.  Land.  What 
did  he  know  about  land?  How  could  he  measure  his  wits 
against  the  wits  of  such  land  speculators  as  he  saw  about 
him?  He  studied  the  faces  of  some  of  the  clamorous 
crowd  in  the  dining-room.  They  were  a  strangely  mixed  lot. 
There  were  undoubtedly  men  of  substance  among  them, 
but  equally  surely  the  majority  were  adventurers  looking 
to  step  into  the  arena  of  the  coming  boom  and  wrest  a  slice 
of  fortune  by  hook,  or,  more  probably,  by  crook.  What 
did  he  know?  What  could  he  do?  And  his  mind  went 
back  to  the  sharp  on  the  train,  and  the  way  he  had  fallen 
to  the  man's  snare.  Again  he  wanted  to  laugh.  He  had 
counted  the  bills  which  Mallinsbee  had  handed  him,  in  the 
privacy  of  his  bathroom.  He  only  remembered  to  have  lost 
about  two  hundred  dollars  to  the  gambler.  The  dollars 
handed  to  him  amounted  to  well  over  three  hundred.  The 
miracle  of  it  all.  He  had  nearly  killed  the  gambler,  and, 
instead  of  losing,  he  had  made  over  a  hundred  dollars  on  the 
deal.  The  miracle  of  it ! 


A  LETTER  HOME  49 

"  Do  you  believe  in  miracles?  "  he  laughed  abruptly. 

Peter  glanced  up  from  his  plate  suspiciously.  Then  he 
promptly  joined  in  the  other's  amusement.  He  always 
remembered  that  this  newcomer  was  a  friend  of  Silas 
Mallinsbee. 

"  Meracles  ?  "  he  said  reflectively.  "  I  can't  say  I  al- 
ways did.  But  one  or  two  things  have  made  some  differ- 
ence that  way.  Takin'  one  extra  drink  saved  my  life  once. 
The  takin'  of  that  drink  wasn't  jest  a  meracle,"  he  added 
dryly.  "  It  was  more  of  a  habit  them  days.  Still,  it  was 
a  meracle  in  a  way.  Me  an'  my  brother  wer'  on  a  bust. 
We  were  feeling  that  good  we  was  handin'  out  our  pasts 
in  lumps  to  each  other,  same  as  if  we  was  strangers,  and 
wasn't  raised  around  the  same  cabbige  patch.  Wai,  he'd 
borrowed  an  automobile  and  left  the  saloon  to  wind  it  up, 
and  get  things  fixed.  While  he  was  gone  the  boys  handed 
me  another  cocktail.  Then  the  bartender  slung  one  at  me, 
an'  I  hadn't  no  more  sense  than  to  buy  another  one  myself. 
Then  some  damn  fool  thought  rye  was  the  best  mix  for 
drinkin'  on  top  o'  cocktails,  an'  so  they  put  me  to  bed. 
Guess  I  never  see  my  brother  get  back  from  that  joy  ride." 
He  sighed.  "  I  allow  they  had  to  bury  a  lot  of  that  auto- 
mobile with  him,  he  was  so  mussed  up.  Sort  o'  meracle, 
you'd  say?  Then  there  was  another  time.  Guess  it  was 
my  wife.  She  was  one  o'  them  females  who  make  you  feel 
you  want  to  associate  with  tame  earthworms.  Sort  o'  fe- 
male who  never  knew  what  a  sick  headache  was,  an'  sang 
hymns  of  a  Sunday  evening,  and  played  a  harmonium  when 
she  was  feelin'  in  sperits.  Sort  o'  female  who  couldn't 
help  smellin'  out  when  you  was  lyin'  to  her,  an'  gener'ly  told 
you  of  it.  A  good  woman  though,  an'  don't  yer  fergit  it. 
Wai,  I  got  sick  once  an'  when  I  got  right  again  she  guessed 


50  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

it  was  up  to  'em  to  insure  myself  in  her  favor.  Guess  I'd 
just  paid  my  first  premium  when  she  goes  an'  takes  colic 
an'  dies.  I  did  all  I  knew.  I  give  her  ginger,  an'  hot-water 
bags,  an'  poultices.  It  didn't  make  no  sort  o'  difference. 
She  died.  I  ain't  paid  no  premiums  since.  Sort  o'  meracle 
that,"  he  added,  with  a  satisfied  smile.  "  Then  there's  this 
coal.  I  hadn't  started  this  hotel  six  months  when  Mallins- 
bee  gets  busy  an'  makes  his  deal  with  the  corporation.  You 
ain't  goin'  to  make  a  pile  out  of  a  bum  country  hotel 
without  a  —  meracle." 

The  man's  gravity  was  impressive,  and  Gordon  strove 
for  sympathy. 

"  Yes,"  he  declared,  with  smiling  emphasis.  "  There  are 
such  things  as  miracles.  One  has  happened  this  day  —  and 
here.  My  arrival  here  was  certainly  a  miracle.  A  pecu- 
liarly earthy  miracle,  but,  nevertheless,  a  —  miracle.  Say, 
I'll  have  to  write  some  in  the  office.  See  you  again." 

Gordon  pushed  back  his  chair  and  hurried  away  through 
the  crowded  room  towards  the  office.  But  here  again  was  a 
crowd.  Here  again  was  "  land  " —  always  "  land."  And 
in  desperation  he  betook  himself  to  his  bathroom.  He  felt 
he  must  write  to  his  mother.  He  felt  that  on  this  his  ar- 
rival in  Snake's  Fall  he  could  do  no  less  than  reassure  her 
of  his  well-being. 

Mrs.  James  Carbhoy  sighed  contentedly  as  she  raised  her 
eyes  from  the  last  of  a  number  of  sheets  of  paper  in  her 
lap.  Her  husband  turned  from  his  contemplation  of  the 
scorching  streets,  and  the  parched  foliage  of  the  wide  ex- 
panse of  trees  beyond  the  window. 

"  Well?  "  he  inquired.     "  Where  is  the  boy  ?  " 

There  was  the  faintest  touch  of  anxiety  in  his  inquiry, 


A  LETTER  HOME  51 

but  his  face  was  perfectly  controlled,  and  the  humor  in  his 
eyes  was  quite  unchanged. 

Mrs.  Carbhoy  sighed  again. 

"  I  don't  know.  He  doesn't  say.  Nor  does  he  give  the 
slightest  clew."  She  examined  the  envelope  of  the  letter. 
"  It  was  mailed  here  in  New  York.  It's  a  rambling  sort  of 

letter.  I  hope  he  is  all  right.  This  hot  weather  is 

Do  you  think  he " 

Her  husband  laughed. 

"  I  guess  he's  all  right.  You  see  I  don't  fancy  he  wants 
us  to  know  where  he  is.  That's  come  through  some  friend, 
I'd  say.  Just  read  it  out/' 

Gordon's  mother  leaned  back  in  her  chair  again.  She 
was  more  than  ready  to  read  her  beloved  boy's  letter  again, 
in  spite  of  her  misgivings.  Besides,  there  was  a  hope 
in  her  thoughts  that  she  had  missed  some  clew  as  to  his 
whereabouts  which  her  clear-sighted  husband  might 
detect. 

"DEAREST  MUM: 

"  Destinations  are  mighty  curious  things  which  have  a 
way  of  making  up  their  minds  as  to  whom  they  are  ter- 
minals for,  regardless  of  the  individual.  Most  of  us  think 
the  matter  of  destination  is  in  our  own  hands.  We  make 
up  our  minds  to  go  to  the  North  Pole;  well,  if  we  get  there 
it's  because  no  other  terminal  on  the  way  has  made  up  its 
mind  to  claim  us.  I've  surely  arrived  at  my  destination,  a 
place  I  wasn't  going  to,  nor  had  heard  of,  nor  dreamed  of 
—  even  when  I  had  nightmare.  I  guess  this  place  must 
have  said  to  itself,  '  Hello,  here's  Gordon  Carbhoy  on  the 
train;  he's  every  sort  of  fool,  he  don't  know  if  it's  Palm 
Sunday  or  Candlemas,  he  hasn't  got  more  sense  than  an 


52  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

old  hen  with  kittens,  let's  divert  him  where  we  think  he 
ought  to  go.'  So  I  arrived  here  quite  suddenly  this  after- 
noon and,  in  consequence,  have  wasted  some  fifty  odd  dol- 
lars of  passage  money.  It's  a  good  beginning,  and  one  the 
old  Dad  '11  surely  appreciate. 

"  Talking  of  the  old  Dad,  I'd  like  you  to  tell  him  from 
me  that  I  don't  think  graft  is  confined  to  —  big  finance. 
This  is  a  discovery  he's  likely  to  be  interested  in.  Also, 
since  he's  largely  interested  in  railroads,  though  not  from 
a  traveling  point  of  view,  I  would  point  out  that  much  might 
be  done  to  improve  accommodation.  The  aisles  are  too 
narrow  and  the  corners  of  the  seats  are  too  sharp.  Fur- 
thermore, the  best  money-making  scheme  I  can  think  of  at 
the  moment  is  a  billet  as  a  conductor  of  a  transcontinental 
express. 

"  However,  these  things  are  just  first  impressions. 

"  There  are  other  impressions  I  won't  discuss  here. 
They  relate  to  arrival  platforms  of  depots.  When  a  fellow 
gets  out  on  his  own  in  the  world,  there  are  many  things  with 
which  he  comes  into  contact  liable  to  strike  him  forcibly. 
Those  are  the  things  in  life  calculated  to  teach  him  much 
that  may  be  useful  to  him  afterwards.  I  have  already  come 
into  contact  with  such  things,  and  though  they  are  liable 
to  leave  an  impression  of  soreness  generally,  their  lessons 
are  quite  sound. 

"  On  the  whole,  in  spite  of  having  lost  fifty  odd  dollars 
on  my  railroad  ticket,  my  first  two  or  three  days'  adven- 
tures have  left  me  with  a  margin  of  profit  such  as  I  could 
not  reasonably  have  expected.  I  mention  this  to  show  you, 
presuming  that  the  Dad  has  told  you  the  object  of  my  going, 
that  my  eye  is  definitely  focused  on  the  primary  purpose 
of  my  ramblings. 


A  LETTER  HOME  53 

"  I  am  keeping  my  eyes  well  open  and  one  or  two  of  my 
observations  might  be  of  interest  to  you. 

"  I  have  discovered  that  the  luxurious  bath  is  not  actually 
necessary  to  life,  and,  from  a  hygienic  point  of  view,  there's 
no  real  drawback  to  the  kind  of  soap  vulgarly  known  as 
'  hoss.'  Furthermore,  the  filtration  of  water  for  ablution- 
ary  purposes  is  quite  unnecessary.  All  it  needs  is  to  be 
of  a  consistency  that'll  percolate  through  a  fish  net.  More- 
over, judging  from  observations  only,  I  have  discovered 
that  a  comb  and  brush,  if  securely  chained  up,  can  be  used 
on  any  number  of  heads  without  damaging  results. 

"  Observation  cannot  be  considered  complete  without  its 
being  turned  upon  one's  fellow-creatures.  I  have  already 
come  into  contact  with  some  very  interesting  specimens  of 
my  kind.  Without  worrying  you  with  details  I  have  found 
some  of  them  really  worth  while.  Generalizing,  I'd  like  to 
say  right  here  that  man  seems  to  be  a  creature  of  curious 
habits  —  many  of  which  are  bad.  I  don't  say  this  with 
malice.  On  the  contrary,  I  say  it  with  appreciation.  And, 
too,  I  never  realized  what  a  general  hobby  amongst  men 
the  collecting  of  dollars  was.  It  must  be  all  the  more  in- 
teresting that,  as  a  collection,  it  never  seems  completed. 
I'd  like  to  remark  that  view  points  change  quickly  under 
given  circumstances,  and  I  am  now  bitten  with  the  desire  to 
become  a  collector. 

"  Furthermore,  my  focus  had  readjusted  itself  already. 
For  instance,  I  feel  no  repulsion  at  the  manners  displayed 
in  the  dining-room  of  a  small  country  '  hotel.'  I  feel  sure 
that  the  man  who  eats  with  his  mouth  open  and  snores  at 
the  same  time  is  quite  justified,  if  he  happens  to  be  bigger 
and  stronger  than  the  man  who  hears  and  sees  him.  I 
also  feel  that  a  man  is  only  within  his  rights  in  having  two 


54  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

or  even  three  helpings  of  every  dish  in  a  hotel  run  on  the 
American  plan,  unless  the  limit  to  a  man's  capacity  is  defi- 
nitely estimated  on  the  printed  tariff.  Another  observation 
came  my  way.  Honesty  seems  to  be  a  matter  of  variable 
quality.  A  nice  ethical  problem  is  suggested  by  the  follow- 
ing incident.  A  man  robs  his  victim;  a  righteously  indig- 
nant onlooker  sees  the  transaction,  and  his  honesty-loving 
nature  rebels.  He  forthwith  robs  the  robber  and  hands  the 
proceeds  of  his  robbery  to  the  original  victim.  This  seems 
to  me  to  open  up  a  road  to  discussion  which  I'm  sure  the 
Dad  and  I  would  enjoy  —  though  not  at  this  distance. 

"  I  have  already  learned  that  there  are  plenty  of  great 
men  in  the  world  whose  existence  I  had  never  suspected. 
I  have  a  feeling  that  local  celebrities  have  a  greater  glory 
than  national  heroes.  George  Washington  never  told  a  lie, 
it  is  true,  and  his  birthday  forms  an  adequate  excuse  for  a 
certain  stimulation  in  the  enjoyments  of  a  people.  But  he 
never  discovered  a  paying  field  for  speculation  by  the  dollar 
chasers.  Until  a  man  does  that  he  can  have  no  under- 
standing of  real  glory. 

"  I  hope  you  and  Gracie  are  well.  I  think  it  would  be 
advisable  to  check  Grade's  appetite  for  candy.  I  am  al- 
ready realizing  that  luxury  can  be  overdone.  She  might 
turn  her  attention  to  peanuts,  which  I  observe  is  a  popular 
pastime  amongst  the  people  with  whom  I  have  come  into 
contact.  I  would  suggest  to  the  old  Dad  that  five-cent 
cigars  have  merits  in  spite  of  rumor  to  the  contrary.  I 
feel,  too,  that  the  dollar  ninety-five  he  would  thus  save  on 
his  smoke  might,  in  time,  become  a  valuable  asset. 

"  Your  loving  son, 

"  GORDON." 


CHAPTER  VI 

GORDON    PROSPECTS    SNAKE'S    FALL 

It  was  a  blazing  day.  The  dust  of  the  prairie  street 
smothered  boots  and  trouser-legs  with  a  fine  gray  powder 
which  even  rose  high  enough  to  get  into  the  throats  of  pe- 
destrians, and  drive  them  headlong  to  the  nearest  place 
where  they  could  hope  to  quench  a  raging  thirst. 

There  was  no  shelter  from  the  sun,  unless  it  were  to  be 
found  upon  the  verandas  with  which  many  of  the  Snake's 
Fall  houses  were  fronted.  Gordon's  face  was  rapidly  blis- 
tering as  he  idly  wandered  through  the  town.  Great 
streams  of  perspiration  coursed  from  beneath  his  soft  felt 
hat.  His  double  collar  felt  sticky,  and  suggested  imminent 
collapse.  To  all  of  which  discomforts  were  now  added  a 
swarm  of  flies  buzzing  about  his  moist  face  with  a  distract- 
ing persistence  which  tried  even  his  patience. 

Gordon  was  abroad  fairly  early.  He  was  abroad  for 
several  reasons.  He  possessed  a  haunting  dread  of  the 
rapid  passing  of  time.  He  had  slept  healthily,  if  not  alto- 
gether comfortably.  Nor  had  he  yet  made  up  his  mind 
whether  the  floor  of  his  room  would  not  be  preferable  to 
his  bed  for  the  passing  of  future  nights.  The  floor  was 
smooth,  there  were  no  hummocks  on  it.  Then,  too,  the 
sorely  tried  and  thoroughly  slack  bed-springs  would  be 
avoided,  and  the  horrible  groans  of  a  protesting  frame 


56  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

would  remain  silent.  It  was  a  matter  to  be  given  considera- 
tion before  the  day  ended,  and,  being  really  of  a  very  thor- 
ough nature,  he  decided  to  consider  it  after  supper. 

He  had  lain  awake  for  a  long  time  that  first  night  under 
the  shelter  of  Peter  McSwain's  hospitable  roof,  and  in  the 
interim  of  dodging  the  flock  hummocks  he  had  closely  con- 
sidered his  future  movements. 

He  argued,  if  things  were  as  he  had  been  told  they  were 
in  Snake's  Fall,  he  did  not  see  how  he  could  do  better  than 
throw  his  lot  in  with  the  crowd  of  "  ground  sharks  "  await- 
ing the  boom.  Having  convinced  himself  in  this  direction, 
he  felt  that  at  the  very  earliest  opportunity  he  must  reassure 
himself  of  Peter  McSwain's  veracity.  He  felt  that  no 
member  of  the  get-rich-quick  brigade  could  dare  to  ignore 
the  claims  of  a  great  coal  discovery  about  to  boom.  Be- 
sides, the  whole  thing  had  been  pitched  into  his  lap;  or 
rather  it  was  he  who  had  been  pitched.  Nor  did  the  rough- 
ness of  the  method  of  his  arrival  detract  from  the  chances 
spreading  out  before  his  astonished  eyes. 

Now  he  was  searching  the  place  for  those  signs  which 
were  to  tell  him  of  the  accuracy  of  his  information.  Nor 
was  it  long  before  he  realized  that  such  a  search  on  his 
part  was  scarcely  likely  to  prove  productive.  His  knowl- 
edge of  coal  had  never  been  more  intimate  than  the  pay- 
ment of  certain  fuel  bills  presented  to  him  at  intervals  in 
the  past  by  the  faithful  Harding.  While  as  for  indications 
of  a  boom  —  well,  he  had  heard  that  a  boom  came  along, 
everybody  robbed  everybody  else,  and  in  the  end  a  number 
of  widows  and  orphans  found  themselves  deprived  of  their 
savings,  and  a  considerable  body  of  attorneys  had  increased 
their  year's  income  out  of  all  proportion  to  their  just  de- 
serts. He  felt  his  weakness  keenly.  However,  he  per- 


GORDON  PROSPECTS  SNAKE'S  FALL   57 

sisted.  He  felt  the  only  thing  was  to  attack  the  problem 
with  an  open  mind.  He  did  so,  and  it  quickly  became 
filled  with  a  humorous  interest  that  had  nothing  to  do  with 
his  purpose. 

Surveying  his  surroundings,  he  thought  that  never  in  his 
life  had  he  even  imagined  such  a  quaint  collection  of  habi- 
tations. The  long,  straight  street,  running  parallel  to  the 
railroad  track  suggested  a  row  of  jagged,  giant  teeth. 
Each  building  was  set  in  its  own  section  of  jawbone,  dis- 
tinct from  its  nearest  neighbor.  Then  they  reared  their 
heads  and  terminated  in  a  pointed  fang  or  a  flat,  clean-cut 
edge  of  high  boarding.  Sometimes  they  possessed  a  mere 
sloping  roof,  like  a  well-worn  tooth,  and,  here  and  there,  a 
half -wrecked  building,  with  its  roof  fallen  in,  stood  out  like 
a  severely  decayed  molar. 

Most  of  the  stores  —  and  he  counted  a  dozen  or  more  — 
suggested  a  considerable  trade.  In  this  direction  he  noted 
a  hardware  store  particularly.  A  drug  store,  too,  with  an 
ice-cream  soda  fountain,  seemed  to  be  in  high  favor,  as  alsd 
did  several  dry-goods  stores,  judging  by  the  number  of  fe- 
males in  attendance.  But  the  small  candy  stores  were  aban- 
doned to  the  swarming  flies. 

The  people  were  interesting.  There  certainly  was  a  con- 
siderable number  about,  in  spite  of  the  heat.  They,  any- 
way the  men,  all  looked  hot  like  himself,  but  seemed  to  be 
surcharged  with  an  energy  that  appeared  to  him  somewhat 
artificial.  They  hurried  unnecessarily.  They  paused  and 
spoke  quickly,  and  passed  on.  Here  and  there  they  fell  into 
groups,  and  their  boisterous  laughter  suggested  the  inevita- 
ble funny  story  or  risque  tale.  There  were  a  great  num- 
ber of  vehicles  rattling  about  —  buggies,  buckboards,  demo- 
crat wagons  —  while  several  times  he  was  passed  by  speed- 


58  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

ing  saddle-horses  which  smothered  him  in  the  dust  raised 
by  their  unshod  hoofs. 

At  last  he  came  to  the  end  of  the  street,  and  turned  to  re- 
trace his  steps.  It  was  all  too  interesting  to  be  readily 
abandoned  on  this  his  first  day  beyond  the  conventions  of 
life  as  his  father's  son. 

Just  outside  a  large  livery  barn  he  came  to  an  abrupt  halt, 
and  stood  stupidly  staring  at  the  entrance  of  the  largest 
dry-goods  store  in  the  street.  The  whole  thing  had  caught 
and  held  him  in  a  moment.  He  seemed  to  remember  hav- 
ing seen  something  of  the  sort  in  a  moving  picture 
once;  perhaps  it  was  years  ago.  But  in  real  life- 
never. 

A  great  chestnut  saddle-horse  had  dashed  up  to  the  tying- 
post  outside  the  store.  It  had  reined  up  with  a  jerk,  and 
its  rider  had  flung  out  of  the  saddle  with  the  careless  aban- 
don he  had  read  about  or  seen  in  the  pictures.  Hooking 
the  reins  over  a  peg,  the  rider  hurried  towards  the  store. 
It  was  then  Gordon  obtained  a  full  view. 

In  a  moment  the  flies  were  forgotten  and  the  heat  of  the 
day  meant  nothing  to  him.  What  a  vision  was  revealed! 
The  coiled  masses  of  auburn  hair,  the  magnificent  hazel 
eyes  and  the  delightful  sun-tanned  oval  of  the  face,  the 
trim  figure  and  perfect  carriage,  the  costume!  The  long 
habit  coat  and  loose  riding-breeches  terminated  in  the  dain- 
tiest of  tan  riding-boots  and  silver  spurs.  Splendid! 
What  a  picture  for  his  admiring  eyes!  A  picture  of  grace, 
and  health,  and  beauty. 

But  the  vision  was  gone  in  a  moment.  The  girl  had 
passed  into  the  store,  and  it  was  only  left  to  the  enthusiastic 
spectator  to  turn  to  the  magnificent  chestnut  horse  she  had 
so  unconcernedly  left  waiting  for  her. 


GORDON  PROSPECTS  SNAKE'S  FALL   59 

Almost  immediately,  however,  his  attention  was  diverted 
into  another  direction.  A  dark,  sallow-faced  man  had 
promptly  taken  up  his  position  at  the  entrance  of  the  store, 
and  stood  gazing  in  after  the  vanished  figure  of  the  girl. 

For  some  absurd  reason  Gordon  took  an  intense  dislike 
to  the  man.  He  looked  unhealthy,  and  he  hated  that  look 
in  a  man.  Besides,  the  impertinence  of  standing  there  spy- 
ing upon  a  lady  who  was  doubtless  simply  bent  on  an  ordi- 
nary shopping  expedition.  It  was  most  exasperating.  All 
unconsciously  he  straightened  his  great  figure  and  squared 
his  shoulders.  It  would  not  have  required  much  to  have 
made  him  go  and  ask  the  man  wrhat  he  meant  by  it. 

He  was  rapidly  working  himself  up  into  a  superlative 
rage,  wrhen  the  girl  in  the  fawn  riding-costume  reappeared. 
A  delightful  smile  broke  over  his  good-looking  face,  but 
only  to  be  promptly  swallowed  up  in  a  scowl.  The  girl  had 
paused,  and  was  speaking  to  the  anaemic  creature  whose 
presence  he  felt  to  be  an  outrage. 

He  noted  her  smile.  What  a  delightful  smile !  Yes,  he 
could  distinctly  make  out  two  dimples  beyond  the  corners 
of  her  pretty  mouth.  His  dislike  of  the  favored  man 
merged  into  a  regret  for  himself. 

Hello!  The  smile  had  gone  from  the  girl's  face.  Her 
beautiful  hazel  eyes  were  sparkling  with  resentment.  The 
man  was  looking  angry,  too.  Gordon  rubbed  his  hands. 
Then  he  began  to  grin  like  a  revengeful  and  malicious 
schoolboy.  The  girl  had  moved  on  to  her  horse,  and  in 
doing  so  it  almost  looked  as  if  she  had  deliberately  pushed 
past  the  white-livered  creature  attempting  to  detain  her. 

She  leaped  into  the  saddle  and  swung  the  horse  about  al- 
most on  its  haunches.  The  next  moment  she  was  lost  in  a 
cloud  of  dust  as  she  raced  down  the  street. 


60  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  Mighty  fine  horsemanship  that,"  said  a  voice,  as  Gor- 
don gazed  open-mouthed  after  the  girlish  vision.  "  A  smart 
gal,  too,  eh  ?  " 

Gordon  turned.  A  small  man  was  sitting  at  the  open 
doorg  of  the  livery  barn  upon  an  upturned  box.  He  was 
leaning  forward  lazily,  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and 
his  hands  clutching  his  forearms.  His  towzled,  straw- 
colored  hair  stuck  out  under  the  brim  of  his  prairie  hat,  and 
a  chew  of  tobacco  bulged  one  thin,  leathery  cheek.  His 
trousers  were  fastened  about  his  waist  with  a  strap,  and  his 
only  upper  garment  was  a  dirty  cotton  shirt  which  disclosed 
an  expanse  of  mahogany-colored  chest  below  the  neck. 

"  Smart  gal  ? "  retorted  Gordon  enthusiastically. 
"  That  don't  say  a  thing.  She  might  have  stepped  right  out 
of  the  pages  of  a  book."  Then  he  added,  as  an  after- 
thought, "  And  it  would  have  to  be  a  mighty  good  book, 
too." 

"  Sure,"  nodded  the  other  in  agreement. 

"Who  is  she?" 

The  man  grinned  and  spat. 

"Why,  that's  Miss  Hazel.  Every  feller  in  this  city 
knows  Miss  Hazel.  If  you  need  eddication  you  want  to 
see  her  astride  of  an  unbroken  colt.  Ther'  never  was  a 
cowpuncher  a  circumstance  aside  o'  her.  She's  the  dandiest 
horseman  out." 

"  I'd  say  you're  right,  all  right." 

"  Right  ?  Guess  ther'  ain't  no  argument.  Hosses  is  my 
trade.  I  was  born  an'  raised  with  'em.  It  don't  take  me 
guessin'  twice  'bout  a  horseman.  I  got  forty  first-class 
hosses  right  here  in  this  barn,  an'  I  got  a  bunch  runnin'  on 
old  Mallinsbee's  grazin'.  Y'see,  a  livery  barn  is  a  mighty 
busy  place  when  a  city  starts  to  think  o'  booming.  All 


GORDON  PROSPECTS  SNAKE'S  FALL   61 

them  rigs  an'  buggies  you  see  chasin'  around  are  hired  right 
here/'  he  finished  up  proudly. 

Gordon  became  interested.  He  felt  the  man  was  talk- 
ing because  he  wanted  to  talk.  He  was  talking  out  of  the 
prevailing  excitement  which  seemed  to  actuate  everybody 
on  the  subject  of  the  coming  boom.  He  encouraged  him. 

"  I'd  say  a  livery  barn  should  be  a  mighty  fine  speculation 
under  these  conditions,"  he  said,  while  the  keen  gray  eyes 
of  the  barn  proprietor  quietly  sized  him  up.  "  There  ought 
to  be  a  pile  hanging  to  it." 

"  Ye-es." 

The  man's  demur  roused  the  other's  curiosity. 

"Not?"  he  inquired. 

"'Tain't  that.  Ther's  dollars  to  it,  but  —  they  don't 
come  in  bunches.  Y'see,  I'm  out  after  a  wad  —  quick. 
We  all  are.  When  the  railroad  talks  we'll  know  where  we 
are.  But  it's  best  to  be  in  before.  See?  Oh,  I  guess  the 
barn's  all  right.  'Tain't  that.  Say,  I'd  hand  you  this  barn 
right  here,  every  plug  an'  every  rig  I  got,  if  you  could  jest 
answer  me  one  question  —  right." 

"  And  the  question  ?  "     Gordon  smiled. 

"  Wher'  is  the  bloomin'  depot  to  be?  Here,  or  yonder  to 
the  west  at  Buffalo  Point?  Answer  that  right,  an'  you  can 
have  this  caboose  a  present." 

The  little  man  sighed,  and  Gordon  began  to  understand 
the  strain  of  waiting  for  these  people  looking  for  a  big  pile 
quick.  He  shook  his  head. 

"  I'm  beginning  to  think  I'd  like  to  know  myself.  Say, 
I  s'pose  you  figure  this  is  a  great  place  to  make  money  ?  I 
s'pose  you  fancy  it's  a  sure  thing?  " 

The  man  unfolded  his  arms  and  waved  one  hand  in  a 
comprehensive  gesture. 


62  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"Do  you  need  to  ask  me  that?"  he  inquired,  almost 
scornfully.  "What  does  them  big  coal  seams  tell  you? 
Can  you  doubt  ?  Hev'  you  got  two  eyes  to  your  head  which 
don't  convey  no  meaning  to  your  brain  ?  Them  coal  seams 
could  stoke  hell  till  kingdom  come,  an'  shares  'ud  still  be  at 
a  premium.  That's  the  backbone.  Wai,  we  ain't  got 
shares  in  that  corporation,  but  the  quickest  road  to  the  pile 
o'  dollars  we're  yearning  far  is  in  town  plots.  An'/'  he 
added  regretfully,  "  every  day  brings  in  more  sharps,  an' 
every  new  sharp  makes  it  harder.  It's  that  blamed  railroad 
we're  waiting  for,  an'  that  railroad  needs  to  graft  its  way 
in  before  it'll  talk." 

"Graft?     Graft  again,"  laughed  Gordon. 

"  Why,  cert'nly."  The  livery  man  opened  his  eyes  in 
astonishment.  "  Folks  don't  do  nothin'  for  nix  that  I  ever 
heard.  Specially  railroads.  That  depot  '11  be  built  where 
their  interests  lie,  an'  we'll  have  to  go  on  guessin'  till  they 
get  things  fixed." 

"  I  see." 

"  Which  says  you  ain't  blind." 

"  No,  I  don't  think  I'm  blind  exactly.  It's  just  —  lack 
of  experience.  I  must  get  a  peek  at  those  seams.  Mallins- 
bee's  the  man  who'll  know  about  things  as  soon  as  anybody, 
I  s'pose.  He  owns  all  the  land  along  the  railroad,  doesn't 
he?" 

The  man  rubbed  his  hands  and  grinned. 

"  Sure.  He'll  know,  an'  through  him  us  as  he's  let  in 
on  the  ground  floor.  Say,  he's  a  heap  of  a  good  feller  — 
an'  bright.  Y'see,  him  an'  us,  some  of  us  fellers  who  been 
here  right  along  before  the  coal  was  found,  are  good  friends. 
There's  some  of  us  got  stakes  down  Buffalo  Point  way  as 
well  as  up  here.  See?  O'  course,  our  pile  lies  Buffalo 


GORDON  PROSPECTS  SNAKE'S  FALL   63 

Point  way,  an'  we're  hopin'  he'll  fix  the  railroad  corpora- 
tion that  way.  If  he  does,  gee!  he's  the  feller  we're  gam- 
blin'  on." 

Gordon's  interest  had  become  almost  feverish  as  he  lis- 
tened. He  was  gathering  the  corroboration  he  needed  with 
an  ease  he  had  never  anticipated. 

"  I  suppose  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  would  be  noth- 
ing to  make  if  —  things  go  right  ?  " 

"If  things  go  our  way,  I'd  say  a  hundred  thousand 
wouldn't  be  a  circumstance,"  cried  the  man  enthusiastically. 
"  I'd  make  that  out  of  a  few  hundred  dollars  without  a 
worry  —  if  things  went  right.  But  it  ain't  the  way  of 
things  to  go  right  when  you  figger  up." 

"  No,  I  s'pose  it's  a  matter  of  chance.  The  chance  comes, 
and  you've  just  got  to  grab  it  right  and  hold  it." 

"Sure.  Chance!  If  chance  hits  you,  why,  don't  go  to 
Lit  back.  Jest  hug  it  —  same  as  you  would  your  best  gal." 

Gordon  laughed  and  peered  into  the  shadowy  interior  of 
the  barn. 

"  Guess  that's  good  talk,"  he  said,  "  and  I'm  going  to 
listen.  I've  got  right  hold  of  that  chance,  and  I'm  hugging 
it.  Seems  to  me  I'll  need  to  get  out  and  get  a  peek  at 
Silas  Mallinsbee's  coal.  Can  you  hire  me  a  rig?  " 

"  I  got  a  dandy  top  buggy  an'  team,"  cried  the  man,  now 
alert  and  ready  for  business.  "  Ten  dollars  to  supper-time. 
How?" 

Gordon  nodded,  and  the  man  vanished  within  the  barn. 

Left  alone,  he  reflected  on  the  rapidity  of  the  movement 
of  events.  He  had  had  a  luck  that  he  surely  could  not 
have  anticipated.  Why,  under  the  influence  of  the  pre- 
vailing enthusiasm  of  .the  place,  he  seemed  to  feel  that  the 
whole  thing  was  too  utterly  simple.  He  wondered  what 


64  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

his  father  would  have  said  had  he  been  there.  It  would 
be  a  glorious  coup  to  return  home  with  that  one  hundred 
thousand  dollars  well  before  the  expiry  of  his  time  limit. 

From  the  dark  interior  of  the  barn  came  the  sounds  of 
horses'  hoofs  clattering  on  the  boarded  floor. 

Presently  his  thoughts  drifted  from  the  important  mat- 
ters in  hand  to  a  far  less  consequent  matter.  It  was  not 
in  his  nature  to  be  long  enamored  of  the  hunt  for  fortune, 
no  matter  what  the  consequences  attached  to  it. 

He  began  to  think  of  the  vision  in  fawn-colored  riding- 
costume.  So  her  name  was  Hazel.  Hazel  —  what?  he 
wondered.  A  pretty  name,  and  well  suited  to  her.  Hazel. 
Those  eyes,  and  the  gorgeous  masses  of  her  hair!  He 
sighed.  For  a  moment  he  thought  of  inquiring  of  the 
livery  man  her  other  name.  Then  he  smilingly  shook  his 
head*  and  decided  to  let  that  remain  a  secret  for  the  pres- 
ent. It  added  to  the  romance  of  the  thing.  Of  one  thing 
he  was  certain:  he  must  contrive  to  see  her  again,  and  get 
to  know  her.  Fortune  or  no  fortune,  if  his  father  were 
to  cut  him  off  with  the  proverbial  shilling  as  a  spendthrift 
and  waster,  if  he  never  saw  a  partnership  in  the  greatest 
financial  corporation  in  the  United  States,  that  girl  could 
not  be  allowed  to  flash  into  his  life  like  a  ray  of  spring 
sunshine,  and  pass  out  of  it  again  because  he  hadn't  the 
snap  to  get  to  know  her. 

He  had  known  so  many  women  in  his  own  set  at  home. 
He  had  admired,  he  had  flirted  harmlessly  enough,  he  had 
shed  presents  and  given  parties,  but  somehow  he  felt  that 
amongst  all  those  society  beauties  there  had  not  been  one 
comparable  to  this  wild  rose  of  the  foothills. 

"  Say,  it's  a  bright  team  an'  '11  need  handlin',"  said  the 
doubtful  voice  of  the  livery  man. 


GORDON  PROSPECTS  SNAKE'S  FALL   65 

"  Don't  worry,"  returned  Gordon,  shocked  into  the  affairs 
of  the  moment  by  the  anxious  voice. 

"  Good."     The  man  sounded  relieved. 

"  Which  is  the  best  way  ?  " 

"  Why,  chase  the  trail  straight  away  west.  You  can't 
miss  it.  I'll  take  that  ten  dollars." 

Gordon  paid  and  climbed  into  the  buggy.  The  next  mo- 
ment the  vehicle  rolled  out  of  the  barn. 


CHAPTER  VII 


Gordon  was  in  no  mood  to  take  things  easily.  Some- 
thing of  the  atmosphere  of  the  place  had  already  got  into 
his  blood.  His  was  similar  to  the  mood  of  those  whom 
he  had  seen  hurrying  unnecessarily  in  the  town.  Those 
whom  he  had  seen  exchanging  hurried  words  and  passing 
on. 

Although  he  lived  in  the  age  of  automobiles  and  aero- 
planes, nothing  of  his  education  had  been  forgotten  by  his 
father.  He  was  a  perfect  whip  with  a  four-in-hand,  and 
now,  as  he  handled  a  "  bright "  team  of  livery  horses,  it 
was  child's  play  to  him.  He  bustled  his  horses  until  he  had 
left  the  ragamuffin  town  behind  him,  then  he  settled  down 
to  a  steady,  round  gait,  and  gave  himself  up  to  the  prospect 
of  the  contemplation  of  those  scenes  of  industry  which  he 
shortly  hoped  to  discover. 

Within  ten  minutes  of  leaving  the  town  he  discovered 
the  first  signs.  Men  and  horses  appeared  in  the  distance 
upon  the  hills.  At  one  point  he  discerned  a  traction  engine 
hauling  a  string  of  laden  wagons.  It  was  the  first  break- 
ing up  of  the  monotonous  green  of  the  low  hills.  And  it 
promptly  suggested  that,  in  the  hidden  hollows,  he  would 
probably  discover  far  more  energetic  signs  of  the  work  of 
the  coal  corporation,  which  doubtless  must  have  already 
begun  in  real  earnest. 


"  MISS  HAZEL "  67 

Things  were  becoming  interesting.  He  wondered  how 
much  work  had  been  done.  There  was  no  sign  of  the  coal 
itself  yet.  He  remembered  to  have  visited  coal  mines  once, 
and  then  everything  had  been  black  and  gloomy.  Vast 
heaps  of  slack  had  been  piled  everywhere,  and  the  pit  heads 
had  been  surmounted  by  hauling  machinery.  There  had 
been  great  black  wastes  dotted  by  houses  and  streets,  which 
seemed  to  have  taken  to  themselves  something  of  the  hue 
of  the  deposits  which  had  brought  them  into  existence. 
Even  the  men  and  women,  and  particularly  the  children, 
had  been  living  advertisements  for  the  great  industry  which 
supported  them.  Here,  as  yet,  there  were  no  such  signs. 
However,  doubtless  further  on  there  would 

All  in  a  moment  his  thoughts  of  coal  were  broken  off, 
and  all  his  interest  vanished  like  a  puff  of  that  coal's  smoke 
in  a  gale.  Coal  no  longer  meant  anything  to  him.  He 
didn't  care  if  the  whole  wide  world  starved  for  coal  for 
all  eternity.  A  chestnut  horse  was  on  the  trail  ahead,  and 
a  figure  was  stooping  beside  it  examining  its  nearside  fore- 
foot. The  figure  was  clad  in  a  fawn-colored  riding-cos- 
tume. 

The  electric  current  of  his  feelings  communicated  itself 
to  his  team  through  the  whip  as  its  conductor.  The  team 
reared  and  plunged,  then,  under  his  strong  hands,  they 
bowled  merrily  along  the  dusty  trail  at  a  great  though  well- 
controlled  speed  towards  the  distant  figures. 

The  girl  dropped  the  horse's  hoof  and  straightened  her- 
self abruptly.  She  turned  with  a  quick  movement,  and 
gazed  back  over  the  trail,  her  eyes  alert  and  questioning. 
Her  wide  prairie  hat  was  thrust  slightly  from  her  fore- 
head, and  a  coil  of  abundant  auburn  hair  was  displayed 


68  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

beneath  its  brim.  Her  finely  penciled  eyebrows  were 
drawn  together  in  an  unmistakable  question,  and  her  pretty 
eyes  were  obviously  speculative. 

She  waited  while  the  buggy  drew  nearer.  She  recognized 
the  team  as  from  Mike  Callahan's  barn,  but  the  occupant 
of  the  vehicle  was  a  stranger  to  her. 

The  latter  fact  drew  her  attention  more  closely.  For  a 
moment  she  had  hoped  that  it  was  someone  she  knew.  She 
needed  someone  she  knew  just  now.  Anyway,  a  stranger 
was  always  interesting,  even  though  he  could  not  afford  her 
the  assistance  she  just  now  happened  to  need. 

She  descried  a  boyish,  eager  face  on  the  top  of  a  pair 
of  wonderful  shoulders.  But  that  which  made  a  strong 
appeal  to  her  was  the  manner  in  which  he  was  handling 
his  horses.  There  was  nothing  here  of  the  slovenly  prairie 
teamster.  The  stranger,  whoever  he  was,  was  a  master 
behind  a  good  team  of  horses.  She  delighted  in  a  horse- 
man, whether  he  were  in  the  driving-seat  or  the  saddle. 

But  all  of  a  sudden  she  became  aware  that  her  regard 
had  been  observed,  and,  with  a  little  smile  twinkling  in  the 
depths  of  her  hazel  eyes,  she  picked  up  her  horse's  fore- 
foot again,  and  once  more  probed  with  her  gauntleted  finger 
for  the  cause  of  the  desperate  lameness  with  which  he  had 
been  suddenly  attacked. 

She  heard  the  buggy  come  up.  She  was  aware  that  the 
team  had  swung  out  to  avoid  collision.  Then  a  cheery 
voice  greeted  her  ears  with  its  pleasant  and  welcome  in- 
quiry — 

"  You  seeni  to  be  in  a  fix.     Can  I  help  any  ?  " 

Before  the  girl  looked  round  she  was  aware  that  the 
teamster  had  alighted.  Then  when  she  finally  released  her 
hold  of  the  injured  hoof,  and  stood  up,  she  found  herself 


"  MISS  HAZEL  "  69 

confronted  by  Gordon's  smiling  blue  eyes,  as  he  stood  bare- 
headed before  her. 

Somehow  or  other  a  smiling  response  was  unavoidable. 

"  That's  real  kind  of  you,"  she  said,  "  but  I  don't  guess 
you  can.  You  see,  poor  Sunset's  dead  lame  with  a  flint 
in  his  frog,  and  —  and  I  just  can't  get  the  fool  thing 
out." 

Gordon  endeavored  to  look  serious.  But  the  trouble  was 
incomparable  in  his  mind  with  the  delightful  charm  of  this 
girl,  in  her  divided  riding-suit.  However,  his  effort  to  con* 
ceal  his  admiration  was  not  without  some  success. 

"  I  don't  guess  we  can  stand  for  any  old  thing  like  an 
impertinent  flint,"  he  said  impulsively.  "  Sunset  must  be 
relieved.  Sunset  must  be  put  out  of  pain.  I'm  not  just  a 
veterinary  surgeon,  but  I'm  a  specialist  on  the  particular 
flint  which  happens  to  annoy  you.  Just  grab  these  lines 
while  I  have  a  look." 

The  frank  unconventionality  of  the  man  was  wholly 
pleasing,  and  the  girl  found  herself  obeying  him  without 
question. 

"  It's  the  nearside,"  she  explained. 

Then  she  remained  silent,  watching  the  assured  manner 
in  which  the  stranger  set  about  his  work.  He  picked  up 
the  hoof  and  examined  it  closely.  Then  he  drew  out  a 
folding  button-hook  from  a  trouser  pocket.  Then,  for  a 
few  moments,  she  watched  his  deft  manipulation  of  it. 

Presently  he  stood  up  holding  a  long,  thin,  sharp  splinter 
of  flint  between  finger  and  thumb. 

"  Say,"  he  remarked,  as  he  returned  the  buttonhook  to 
his  pocket,  while  his  eyes  shone  merrily,  "  I  believe  if  some 
bright  geologist  were  to  set  out  chasing  these  flints  to  their 
lair,  I've  a  notion  he'd  pull  up  in  —  in  —  well,  aspirate  a 


7o  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

certain  measure  in  cloth  and  I'd  guess  you  get  the  answer 
right  away.  It's  paved  with  'em.  That's  my  secret  be- 
lief. I  could  write  a  treatise  on  'em.  I've  discovered  every 
breed  and  every  species.  I  tell  you  if  you  want  to  study 
these  rocks  right,  you  need  to  run  an  automobile,  and  find 
yourself  in  a  hurry,  having  forgotten  to  carry  spare  tires. 
Ugh !  "  He  flung  the  stone  away  from  him  and  turned 
again  to  the  horse. 

Still  watching  him,  the  girl  saw  him  deliberately  tear 
off  a  piece  of  his  handkerchief,  and,  with  the  point  of  his 
pocket-knife,  stuff  it  into  the  jagged  gash  in  poor  Sunset's 
frog. 

"  That'll  keep  out  some  of  Snake's  Fall,"  he  observed, 
returning  the  rest  of  his  handkerchief  to  his  pocket. 
"  We'll  take  it  out  when  we  get  him  home."  Then  he 
deliberately  turned  to  his  team  and  tied  Sunset  alongside. 
After  that,  in  the  most  practical  manner,  he  moved  the 
wheels  of  the  buggy  apart.  "  Jump  right  in.  Guess  you 
know  the  way,  so  you  can  show  it  me.  You  see,  I'm  a 
stranger.  Say,  it's  an  awful  thing  to  be  a  stranger.  Life's 
rotten  being  a  stranger." 

The  girl  was  gazing  at  him  with  wide,  wondering  eyes 
that  were  half  inclined  to  resentment.  She  was  not  ac- 
customed to  being  ordered  about  in  this  cavalier  fashion. 
She  had  no  intention  of  being  incontinently  swept  off  her 
feet. 

'  Thanks,"  she  said,  with  an  assumption  of  hauteur. 
"If  you'll  untie  Sunset  I'll  ride  home." 

"Ride  home?  Say,  you're  joking.  Why,  you  can't 
ride  Sunset  with  that  gash  in  his  frog.  Say,  you  couldn't 
be  so  cruel.  Think  of  the  poor  fellow  silently  suffering. 
Think  of  the  mute  anguish  he  would  endure  at  each  step. 


"MISS  HAZEL "  71 

It  —  it  would  be  a  crime,  an  outrage,  a  —  a "     He 

broke  off,  his  eyes  twinkling  merrily. 

The  girl  wanted  to  be  annoyed.  She  told  herself  she 
was  annoyed,  but  she  nevertheless  began  to  laugh,  and  Gor- 
don knew  he  was  to  have  his  way. 

"  1  really  couldn't  think  of  accepting  your Besides, 

you    weren't    going    to    Buffalo    Point.     You    know    you 
weren't." 

"  Do  I  ? "  Gordon's  eyes  were  blankly  inquiring. 
"  Now  how  on  earth  do  I  know  where  I  was  going  ?  Say, 
I  guess  it's  true  I  had  in  my  mind  a  vision  of  the  glinting 
summer  sun,  tinting  the  coal  heaps  with  its  wonderful, 
golden,  ripening  rays  —  though  I  guess  it  would  be  some 
work  ripening  stove  coal  —  but  as  to  my  ever  getting  there 
-well,  that  just  depended  on  the  trail  I  happened  to  take. 
As  I  said,  I'm  a  stranger.  And  I  may  as  well  admit  right 
here  that  I've  a  hobby  getting  mussed  up  with  wrong 
trails." 

The  girl's  laughter  dispelled  her  last  effort  at  dignity. 

"  I  knew  you  were  a  stranger.  You  see,  I  get  to  know 
everybody  here  —  by  sight." 

Gordon  made  a  gesture  of  annoyance. 
*  There,"  he  exclaimed  in  self-disgust,  "  I  ought  to  have 
thought  of  that  before.  How  on  earth  could  I  expect  you 
to  ride  in  a  stranger's  buggy,  with  said  stranger  on  the 
business  end  of  the  lines?  Then  the  hills  are  so  near. 
Why,  you  might  be  spirited  off  goodness  knows  where,  and 
your  loving  relatives  never,  never  hear  of  you  no  more, 
and Say,  we  can  easily  fix  that  though.  My  name's 

-  Van  Henslaer.     Gordon  Van  Henslaer  from  New  York. 
Now  if  you  tell  me  —  what's  the  matter?  " 

A  merry  peal  of  laughter  had  greeted  his  announcement, 


72  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

and  Gordon  looked  on  in  pretended  amazement,  waiting  for 
her  mirth  to  subside. 

"  Oh  dear,  oh  dear,"  the  girl  cried  at  last.  "  I  might 
have  known.  Say,  of  course  I  ought  to  have  known.  You 
came  here  yesterday  on  the  train  —  by  mistake.  You  -  -" 

"  That's  so.  I'd  booked  through  to  Seattle,  but  —  some 
interfering  pack  of  fools  guessed  I'd  made  a  —  mistake/' 

The  girl  nodded.  Her  pretty  eyes  were  still  dancing  with 
merriment. 

"  Father  came  by  the  same  train,  and  told  me  of  some- 
one who  got  mixed  up  in  —  in  a  fight,  and  they  threw  - 

"  Don't  say  another  word,"  Gordon  cried  hurriedly. 
"I'm  —  I'm  the  man.  And  your  father  is ?" 

"  Mallinsbee  —  Silas  Mallinsbee !  " 

"  Then  you  are  Hazel  Mallinsbee." 

"How  do  you  know  my  first  name?" 

"  Why,  I  saw  you  in  town,  and  the  livery  man  told  me 
you  were  '  Miss  Hazel/  Say,  this  is  bully.  Now  we 
aren't  strangers,  and  you  can  ride  in  my  buggy  without 
any  question.  Jump  right  in,  and  I'll  drive  you  —  where 
is  it?" 

Hazel  Mallinsbee  obeyed  without  further  demur.  She 
sprang  into  the  vehicle,  and  Gordon  promptly  followed. 
The  next  moment  they  were  moving  on  at  a  steady,  sober 
pace. 

"  It's  Buffalo  Point,"  the  girl  directed.  "  It's  only  four 
miles.  Then  you  can  go  on  and  enjoy  your  beautiful  pa- 
thetic picture  of  the  coal  workings.  But  you  won't  have 
much  time  if  we  travel  at  this  gait,"  she  added  slyly. 

Gordon  shook  his  head. 

"It's  Sunset,"  he  said.  "We  must  consider  his  poor 
foot." 


"  MISS  HAZEL  "  73 

There  was  laughter  in  Hazel's  eyes  as  she  sighed. 

"  Poor  Sunset.     Perhaps  —  you're  right." 

"  Without  a  doubt,"  Gordon  laughed.  "  He  might  get 
blood  poisoning,  or  cancer,  or  dyspepsia,  or  something  if 
we  bustled  him." 

Hazel  pointed  a  branching  trail  to  the  north. 

"  That's  the  trail,"  she  said.  "  Father's  at  home.  He'll 
be  real  glad  to  see  you.  Say,  you  know  father  ought  to 
know  better  —  at  his  age.  He  —  he  just  loves  a  scrap.  He 
was  telling  me  about  you,  and  saying  how  you  '  hammered  ' 
—  that's  the  word  he  used  —  the  '  sharp.'  He  was  most 
upset  that  the  train  crew  spoiled  the  finish.  You  know 
father's  a  great  scallywag.  I  don't  believe  he  thinks  he's 
a  day  over  twenty.  It's  —  it's  dreadful  —  with  g.  grown- 
up daughter.  He's  —  just  a  great  big  boy  for  all  his  gray 
hair.  You  should  just  see  him  out  on  the  range.  He's 
got  all  the  youngsters  left  standing.  It  must  be  grand  to 
grow  old  like  he  does." 

Gordon  listened  to  the  girl's  rich  tones,  and  the  enthusiasm 
lying  behind  her  words,  and  somehow  the  whole  situation 
seemed  unreal.  Here  he  was  driving  one  of  the  most  per- 
fectly delightful  girls  he  had  ever  met  to  her  home,  within 
twenty- four  hours  of  his  absurd  arrival  in  a  still  more  ab- 
surd town.  Nor  was  she  any  mere  country  girl.  Her 
whole  style  spoke  of  an  education  obtained  at  one  of  the 
great  schools  in  the  East.  Her  costume  might  have  been 
tailored  on  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York.  Yet  here  she  was 
living  the  life  of  the  wonderful  sunlit  prairie,  the  daughter 
of  an  obscure  rancher  in  the  foothills  of  the  Rockies. 

"  Say,  your  father  is  just  a  bully  feller,"  he  agreed 
quickly.  "  He  didn't  know  me  from  —  a  grasshopper,  but 
he  did  me  all  sorts  of  a  good  service.  It  don't  matter  what 


74  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

it  was.     But  it  was  one  of  those  things  which  between 
men  count  a  whole  heap." 

The  girl's  enthusiasm  waxed. 

"Father's  just  as  good  as  —  as  he's  clever.  But/'  she 
added  tenderly,  "  he's  a  great  scallywag.  Oh  dear,  he'll 
never  grow  up."  A  few  minutes  later  she  pointed  quickly 
ahead  with  one  gauntleted  hand. 

"  That's  Buffalo  Point,"  she  said.  "  There  where  that 
house  is.  That's  our  house,  and  beyond  it,  half  a  mile,  you 
can  see  the  telegraph  poles  of  the  railroad  track." 

Gordon  gazed  ahead.  They  still  had  a  good  mile  to  go. 
The  lonely  house  fixed  his  attention. 

"  Say,  isn't  there  a  village  ? "  he  inquired.  "  Buffalo 
Point?" 

The  girl  shook  her  head. 

"  No.  Just  that  little  frame  house  of  ours.  Father  had 
it  built  as  —  a  sort  of  office.  You  see,  we're  both  working 
hard  on  his  land  scheme.  You  see,  it's  —  it's  our  hobby, 
the  same  as  losing  trails  is  yours." 

Gordon  laughed. 

"  That's  plumb  spoiled  my  day.  I'd  forgotten  the  land 
business.  Now  it's  all  come  over  me  like  a  chill,  like  the 
drip  of  an  ice  wagon  down  the  back  of  my  neck.  I  s'pose 
there'll  always  be  land  around,  and  we've  always  got  to 
have  coal.  It  seems  a  pity,  doesn't  it.  Say,  there  hasn't 
been  a  soul  I've  met  in  twenty-four  hours,  but  they've  been 
crazy  on  —  on  town  sites.  They're  most  ridiculous  things, 
town  sites.  Four  pegs  and  four  imaginary  lines,  a  deal  of 
grass  with  a  substrata  of  crawly  things.  And  for  that  men 
would  scrap,  and  cheat,  and  rob,  and  —  and  graft.  It's- 
a  wonder/' 

Hazel  Mallinsbee  checked  her  inclination  to  laugh  again. 


"MISS  HAZEL"  75 

Her  eyes  were  gazing  ahead  at  the  little  frame  house,  and 
they  grew  wistfully  serious. 

"  It  isn't  the  land,"  she  said  simply.  "  The  scrap,  and 
cheat,  and  rob,  and  graft,  are  right.  But  it's  the  fight 
for  fortune.  Fortune?"  she  smiled.  "Fortune  means 
everything  to  a  modern  man.  To  some  women,  too,  but 
not  quite  in  the  way  it  does  to  a  man.  You  see,  in  olden 
days  competition  took  a  different  form.  I  don't  know  if, 
in  spite  of  what  folks  say  about  the  savagery  of  old  times, 
they  weren't  more  honest  and  wholesome  than  they  are  now. 
However,  nature's  got  to  compete  for  something.  Human 
nature's  got  to  beat  someone.  Life  is  just  one  incessant 
rivalry.  Well,  in  old  times  it  took  the  form  of  bloodshed 
and  war,  when  men  counted  with  pride  the  tally  of  their 
victories.  Now  we  point  with  pride  to  our  civilization,  and 
gaze  back  in  pity  upon  our  benighted  forefathers.  Instead 
of  bloodshed,  killing,  fighting,  massacring  and  all  the  old 
bad  habits  of  those  who  came  before  us,  we  point  our  civili- 
zation by  lying,  cheating,  robbing  and  grafting." 

Gordon  smiled. 

"  Put  that  way  it  sounds  as  though  the  old  folks  were 
first-class  saints  compared  with  us.  There's  a  deal  of  hon- 
esty when  two  fellers  get  right  up  on  their  hind  legs  and 
start  in  to  mush  each  other's  faces  to  a  pulp.  But  it  isn't 
just  the  same  when  you  creep  up  while  the  other  feller  isn't 
wise  and  push  the  muzzle  of  a  gun  into  his  middle  and 
riddle  his  stomach  till  it's  like  a  piece  of  gruyere  cheese." 

Hazel  shook  her  head.  Her  eyes  were  still  smiling,  but 
Gordon  detected  something  of  the  serious  thought  behind 
them.  He  vainly  endeavored  to  sober  his  mood  in  sym- 
pathy. 

"  Guess  it's  the  refinement  of  competition  due  to  the 


76  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

claims  of  our  much  proclaimed  culture  and  civilization. 
I  think  civilization  is  a  —  a  dreadful  mockery.  To  call  it 
a  whitewash  would  be  a  libel  on  a  perfectly  innocent,  whole- 
some, sanitary  process.  That's  how  I  always  feel  when  I 
stop  to  think.  But  —  but,"  her  eyes  began  to  dance  with  a 
joyous  enthusiasm,  "I  don't  often  think  —  not  that  way. 
Say,  I  just  love  the  battle,  I  mean  the  modern  battle  for 
fortune.  It's  —  it's  almost  the  champagne  of  life.  I  know 
only  one  thing  to  beat  it." 

Gordon  had  forgotten  the  team  he  was  driving,  and  let 
them  amble  leisurely  on  towards  the  house,  now  so  rapidly 
approaching. 

"What's  —  the  real  champagne?"  he  inquired. 

The  girl  turned  and  gazed  at  him  with  wide  eyes. 

"Why,"  she  cried.  "Life  — just  life  itself.  What 
else?  Say,  think  of  the  moment  your  eyes  open  to  the 
splendid  sunlight  of  day.  Think  of  the  moment  you  realize 
you  are  living  —  living  —  living,  after  a  long,  delicious 
night's  sleep.  Think  of  all  the  perfect  moments  awaiting 
you  before  night  falls,  and  you  seek  your  bed  again.  It  is 
just  the  very  essence  of  perfect  joy." 

"  It's  better  after  breakfast,  and  you've  had  time  to  get 
around  some." 

The  ardor  of  the  girl's  mood  received  a  sudden  douche. 
Just  for  a  moment  a  gleam  of  displeasure  shadowed  her 
eyes.  Then  a  twinkling  smile  grew,  and  the  clouds  dis- 
persed. 

"  Isn't  that   just   a   man?    Where's   your   enthusiasm? 
Where's  your  joy  of  life?     Where's  your  romance,  and- 
and  spirit  of  hope?" 

A  great  pretense  of  reproach  lay  in  her  rapid  questions. 

"  Oh,  they're  all  somewhere  lying  around,  I  guess,"  re- 


"  MISS  HAZEL  "  77 

turned  Gordon  simply.  "  Those  things  are  all  right,  sure. 
But  —  but  it's  a  mighty  tough  proposition  worrying  that 
way  on  —  on  an  empty  stomach.  It  seems  to  me  that's  just 
one  of  life's  mistakes.  There  ought  to  be  a  law  in  Con- 
gress that  a  feller  isn't  allowed  to  —  to  think  till  he's  had 
his  morning  coffee.  The  same  law  might  provide  for  the 
fellow  who  fancies  himself  a  sort  of  canary  and  starts  right 
in  to  sing  before  he's  had  his  bath.  I'd  have  him  sent  to 
the  electric  chair.  That  sort  of  fellow  never  has  a  voice 
worth  two  cents,  and  he  most  generally  has  a  repertoire  of 
songs  about  as  bright  as  Solomon's,  and  a  mighty  deal 
older.  Sure,  Miss  Mallinsbee,  I  haven't  a  word  to  say 
against  life  in  a  general  way,  but  it's  about  as  wayward  as 
a  spoilt  kid,  and  needs  as  much  coaxing." 

Hazel  Mallinsbee  watched  the  play  of  the  man's  features 
while  he  talked.  She  knew  he  meant  little  or  nothing  of 
what  he  said.  The  fine,  clear  eyes,  the  smiling  simplicity 
and  atmosphere  of  virile  youth  about  him,  all  denied  the 
sentiments  he  was  giving  vent  to.  She  nodded  as  he  fin- 
ished. 

"  At  first  I  thought  you  meant  all  —  that,"  she  said 
lightly.  "  But  now  I  know  you're  just  talking  for  talking's 
sake."  Then,  before  he  could  reply,  she  pointed  excitedly 
at  the  house,  now  less  than  a  hundred  yards  away.  "  Why, 
there's  father,  standing  right  there  on  the  veranda ! "  she 
exclaimed. 

Gordon  looked  ahead.  The  old  man  was  waving  one 
great  hand  to  his  daughter. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

AT  BUFFALO   POINT 

To  Gordon's  mind  Hazel  Mallinsbee  attached  far  greater 
importance  to  her  father's  presence  on  the  veranda  than 
the  incident  warranted.  It  did  not  seem  to  him  that  there 
was  the  least  necessity  for  his  being  there  at  all.  Truth  to 
tell,  the  matter  appeared  to  him  to  be  a  perfect  nuisance. 
He  had  rather  liked  Silas  Mallinsbee  when  he  had  met  him 
under  somewhat  distressing  circumstances  in  the  town. 
Now  he  felt  a  positive  dislike  for  him.  His  strong,  keen, 
benevolent  face  made  no  appeal  to  his  sympathies  now  what- 
soever. 

-Besides,  it  did  not  seem  right  that  any  man  who  claimed 
parentage  of  such  a  delightful  daughter  as  the  girl  at  his 
side  should  slouch  about  in  a  pair  of  old  trousers  tucked  into 
top-boots  and  secured  about  his  waist  by  a  narrow  strap. 
And  it  seemed  positively  indecent  that  he  should  display 
no  other  upper  garment  than  a  cotton  shirt  of  such  a  doubt- 
ful hue  that  it  was  impossible  to  be  sure  of  its  sanitary 
condition. 

However,  he  allowed  none  of  these  feelings  betrayal,  and 
replied  appropriately  to  Hazel's  excited  announcement.  He 
was  glad,  later,  he  had  exercised  such  control,  for  their  ar- 
rival at  the  house  was  the  immediate  precursor  of  an  invita- 
tion to  share  their  midday  meal,  which  had  already  been 
placed  on  the  table  by  the  silent,  inscrutable  Hip-Lee,  the 
Chinese  cook  and  general  servitor  in  this  temporary  abode. 


AT  BUFFALO  POINT  79 

The  horses  had  been  housed  and  fed  in  the  temporary 
stable  at  the  back  of  the  house,  and  a  committee  of  three 
had  sat  upon  Sunset's  injury  and  prescribed  for  and  treated 
it.  Now  they  were  indoors,  ready  for  the  homely  meal 
set  out  for  them. 

Hip-Lee  moved  softly  about  setting  an  additional  place 
at  the  table  for  the  visitor.  Silas  Mallinsbee  was  lounging 
in  the  doorway,  looking  out  across  the  veranda.  Hazel 
was  superintending  Hip-Lee's  efforts.  Gordon  was  en- 
deavoring to  solve  the  problem  of  the  rapid  and  unexpected 
happenings  which  had  befallen  him  since  his  arrival,  and  at 
the  same  time  carry  on  a  conversation  with  the  rumbling- 
voiced  originator  of  Snake's  Fall  boom. 

"  At  one  time  I  guessed  I'd  bumped  right  into  the  hands 
of  the  Philistines,"  he  said.  "  That's  when  I  was  —  er  ar- 
riving. Since  then  a  Samaritan  got  busy  my  way  and 
dumps  me  right  down  in  the  heart  of  the  Promised  Land, 
which  just  now  seems  to  be  flowing  with  milk  and  honey. 
I  set  out  to  view  the  dull  black  mountains  of  industry,  and 
instead  I  arrive  at  the  sparkling  plains  of  delightful  ease. 
Mr.  Mallinsbee,  you  certainly  have  contrived  to  put  me 
under  enormous  obligation." 

Gordon's  eyes  were  pleasantly  following  the  movements 
of  the  girl's  graceful  figure  about  the  plain  but  neat  parlor. 
"  I  suppose  all  offices  in  the  West  are  not  like  this,  be- 
cause   " 

Mallinsbee  rumbled  a  pleasant  laugh. 

"Office?"  he  said,  without  turning.  "That's  jest  how 
Hazel  calls  it.  Guess  she's  got  notions  since  she  finished 
off  her  education  at  Boston.  She's  got  around  with  a  heap 
of  'em,  includin'  that  suit  she's  wearin'.  Y'see,  she's  my 
foreman  hoss-breaker,  and  reckons  skirts  and  things  are  — 


80  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

played  out.  Office?  Why,  it's  just  a  shack.  Some  time 
you  must  get  around  out  an'  see  the  ranch  house.  It's 
some  place,"  he  added  with  simple  pride. 

Hazel  went  up  to  her  father  and  pretended  to  threaten 
him  by  the  neck. 

"See,  Daddy,  you  can  just  quit  telling  about  my  no- 
tions to  —  folks.  Anyway  " —  she  turned  her  back  to  Gor- 
don — "  I  appeal  to  you,  Mr.  Van  Henslaer,  isn't  an  office  a 
place  where  folks  transact  big  deals  and  make  fortunes?  " 

"That's  how  folks  reckon  when  they  rent  them/'  said 
Gordon.     "Of  course,  I've  known  folks  to  sleep  in  'em. 
Others  use  'em  as  a  sort  of  club  smoking  lounge.     Then 
they've  been  known  to  serve  some  men  as  a  shelter  from  — 
home.     I  used  to  have  an  office." 

Silas  Mallinsbee  turned  from  his  contemplation  of  the 
horizon.  He  was  interested,  and  his  shrewd  eyes  dis- 
played the  fact. 

Hazel  clapped  her  hands. 

"  And  what  did  you  use  it  for  ?  "  she  demanded  quizzi- 
cally. 

"I  —  oh,  I  —  let's  see.     Well,  mostly  an  address  from 
which  to  have  word  sent  to  folks  I  didn't  want  to  see  that  - 
I  was  out.     I  used  to  find  it  useful  that  way." 

Mallinsbee's  chuckle  amused  Gordon,  but  Hazel  assumed 
an  air  of  judicial  severity. 

"  A  spirit  not  to  be  encouraged."  Then,  at  the  sound  of 
her  father's  chuckle,  "My  daddy,  you  are  as  bad  as  he. 
Now  food's  ready,  so  please  sit  in.  We  can  talk  easier 
around  a  table  than  when  people  are  dreaming  somewhere 
in  the  distance  on  the  horizon,  or  walking  about  a  room 
that  isn't  bigger  than  the  bare  size  to  sit  in.  Anyway,  Mr. 
Van  Henslaer,  this  office  is  for  business.  I  won't  have  it 


AT  BUFFALO  POINT  81 

disparaged  by  my  daddy,  or  —  or  anyone  else.  It  serves 
a  great  purpose  so  far  as  we're  concerned."  Then  she 
added  slyly,  "  You  see,  we're  in  the  throes  of  the  great 
excitement  of  making  a  huge  pile,  for  the  sheer  love  of 
making  it.  Aren't  we,  Daddy,  dear?" 

Silas  Mallinsbee  looked  up  from  the  food  he  was  eating 
with  the  air  of  a  man  who  only  eats  as  a  matter  of  sheer 
necessity. 

"  Say,  Mr.  Van  Henslaer,"  he  said  in  his  deep  tones, 
"  Fve  been  a  rancher  all  my  life.  Cattle,  to  me,  are  just 
about  the  only  things  in  the  world  worth  while,  'cept  horses. 
I've  never  had  a  care  or  thought  outside  'em,  till  one  day 
I  got  busy  worrying  what  was  under  the  ground  instead  of 
keeping  to  the  things  I  understood  above  the  ground. 
Y'see,  the  trouble  was  two  things,"  he  went  on,  smiling  ten- 
derly in  his  daughter's  direction.  "  One  was  I'd  fed  the 
ranch  stoves  with  surface  coal  that  you  could  find  almost 
anywheres  on  my  land,  and  the  other  was  the  fates  just 
handed  me  the  picture  of  a  daughter  who  caught  the  dan- 
gerous disease  of  '  notions '  way  down  east  at  school  in 
Boston.  Since  she's  come  along  back  to  us  I've  had  coal, 
coal,  coal  all  chasin'  through  my  head,  an'  playing  baseball 
with  every  blamed  common-sense  idea  that  ever  was  there 
before.  Wai,  to  tell  things  quick,  I  made  a  mighty  big 
pile  out  of  that  coal  just  to  please  her.  We  didn't  need  it, 
but  she  guessed  it  was  up  to  me  to  do  this.  But  that  didn't 
finish  it.  This  gal  here  couldn't  rest  at  that.  She  guessed 
that  pile  was  made  and  done  with.  She  needs  to  get  busy 
in  another  direction.  Well,  she  gets  to  work,  and  has  all 
my  land  on  the  railroads  staked  out  into  a  township,  and 
reckons  it's  a  game  worth  playing.  The  other  was  too  dead 
easy.  This  time  she  reckons  to  measure  her  brains  and 


82  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

energy  against  a  railroad!  She  reckons  to  show  that  we 
can  match,  and  beat,  any  card  they  can  play.  That's  the 
reason  of  this  office." 

Hazel  laughed  and  raised  an  admonishing  finger  at  the 
smiling  face  and  twinkling  eyes  of  her  father. 

"What  did  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Van  Henslaer?"  she  cried. 
"  Didn't  I  say  he  was  just  a  scallywag?  Oh,  my  great,  big 
daddy,  I'm  dreadfully,  dreadfully  ashamed  and  disappointed 
in  you.  I'm  going  to  give  you  away.  I  am,  surely.  There, 
there,  Mr.  Van  Henslaer,  sits  the  wicked  plotter  and 
schemer.  Look  at  him.  A  big,  burly  ruffian  that  ought  to 
know  better.  Look  at  him,"  she  went  on,  pointing  a  dra- 
matic finger  at  him.  "  And  he  isn't  even  ashamed.  He's 
laughing.  Now  listen  to  me.  I'm  going  to  tell  you  my 
version.  He's  a  rancher  all  right,  all  right.  He's  been 
satisfied  with  that  all  his  life,  and  prosperity's  never  turned 
him  down.  Then  one  day  he  found  coal,  and  did  nothing. 
We  just  used  to  talk  of  it,  that  was  all.  Then  another  day 
along  comes  a  friend,  a  very,  very  old  friend  and  neighbor, 
whom  he's  often  helped.  He  came  along  and  got  my  daddy 
to  sell  him  a  certain  patch  of  grazing — -just  to  help  him 
out,  he  said.  He  was  a  poor  man,  and  my  big-hearted 
daddy  sold  it  him  at  a  rock-bottom  price  to  make  it  easy 
for  him.  Three  months  later  they  were  mining  coal  on  it 
-  anthracite  coal.  That  fellow  made  a  nice  pile  out  of  it. 
He'd  bluffed  my  daddy,  and  my  daddy  takes  a  bluff  from 
no  man.  Well,  say,  he  just  nearly  went  crazy  being  bested 
that  way,  and  he  said  to  me  —  these  were  his  words: 
'  Come  on,  my  gal,  you  and  me  are  just  goin'  to  show  folks 
what  we're  made  of.  If  there's  money  in  my  land  we're 
going  to  make  all  we  need  before  anyone  gets  home  on  us. 
I'm  goin'  to  show  'em  I'm  a  match  for  the  best  sharks  our 


AT  BUFFALO  POINT  83 

country  can  produce  —  and  that's  some  goinV  There 
sits  the  money-spinner.  There!  Look  at  him;  he's 
self-confessed.  I'm  just  his  clerk,  or  decoy,  or  —  or 
any  old  thing  he  needs  to  help  him  in  his  wicked,  wicked 
schemes ! " 

Mallinsbee  sat  chuckling  at  his  daughter's  charge,  and 
Gordon,  watching  him,  laughed  in  chorus. 

"  I'm  kind  of  sorry,  Mr.  Mallinsbee,  to  have  had  to  listen 
to  such  a  tale,"  he  said  at  last,  with  pretended  seriousness, 
"  but  I  guess  you're  charged,  tried,  convicted  and  sentenced. 
Seeing  there's  just  two  of  you,  it's  up  to  me  to  give  the 
verdict  Guilty ! "  he  declared.  "  Have  you  any  reason  to 
show  why  sentence  should  not  be  passed  upon  you?  No? 
Very  well,  then.  I  sentence  you  to  make  that  pile,  with- 
out fail,  in  a  given  time.  Say  six  months.  Failing  which 
you'll  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  you  have  as- 
sisted in  the  ruin  of  an  innocent  life." 

In  the  midst  of  the  lightness  of  the  moment  Gordon  had 
suddenly  taken  a  resolve.  It  was  one  of  those  quick,  im- 
pulsive resolves  which  were  entirely  characteristic  of  him. 
There  was  nothing  quite  clear  in  his  mind  as  to  any  reason 
in  his  decision.  He  was  caught  in  the  enthusiasm  of  his 
admiration  of  the  fair  oval  face  of  his  hostess,  whose  uncon- 
ventional camaraderie  so  appealed  to  his  wholesome  nature ; 
he  was  caught  by  the  radiance  of  her  sunny  smile,  by  the 
laughing  depths  of  her  perfect  hazel  eyes.  Nor  was  the 
manner  of  the  man,  her  father,  without  effect  upon  his  re- 
sponsive, simple  nature. 

But  his  sentence  on  Silas  Mallinsbee  had  caught  and  held 
both  father's  and  daughter's  attention,  and  excited  their 
curiosity. 

"  Why  six  months?"  smiled  Hazel. 


84  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  Say,  it's  sure  some  time  limit,"  growled  Mallinsbee. 

Gordon  assumed  an  air  of  judicial  severity. 

"  Is  the  court  to  be  questioned  upon  its  powers?  "  he  de- 
manded. "  There  is  a  law  of  '  contempt,' "  he  added  warn- 
ingly. 

But  his  warning  was  without  effect. 

"And  the  innocent's  ruin?"  demanded  Hazel. 

The  answer  came  without  a  moment's  hesitation. 

"Mine,"  said  Gordon.  And  his  audience,  now  with 
serious  eyes,  waited  for  him  to  go  on. 

Hip-Lee  had  brought  in  the  sweet,  and  vanished  again 
in  his  silent  fashion.  Then  Gordon  raised  his  eyes  from 
his  plate  and  glanced  at  his  host.  They  wandered  across 
to  and  lingered  for  a  moment  on  the  strong  young  face 
of  the  girl.  Then  they  came  back  to  his  plate,  and  he 
sighed. 

"  Say,  if  there's  one  thing  hurts  me  it's  to  hear  every- 
body telling  a  yarn,  and  my  not  having  one  to  throw  back 
at  'em,"  he  said,  smiling  down  at  the  simple  baked  custard 
and  fruit  he  was  devouring.  "Just  now  I'm  not  hurt  a 
thing,  however,  so  that  remark  don't  apply.  You  see,  my 
yarn's  just  as  simple  and  easy  as  both  of  yours,  and  I  can 
tell  it  in  a  sentence.  My  father's  sent  me  out  in  the  world 
with  a  stake  of  my  own  naming  to  make  one  hundred 
thousand  dollars  in  six  months !  " 

He  was  surprised  to  witness,  the  dramatic  effect  of 
his  announcement.  Hazel's  astonishment  was  serious  and 
frankly  without  disguise.  But  her  father's  was  less  marked 
by  outward  expression.  It  was  only  obvious  from  the  com- 
plete lack  of  the  smile  which  had  been  in  his  shrewd  eyes 
a  moment  before. 

"  One  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  six  months ! "  Hazel 


AT  BUFFALO  POINT  85 

exclaimed.  She  had  narrowly  escaped  scalding  herself  with 
the  coffee  Hip-Lee  had  just  served.  She  set  her  cup  down 
hastily. 

"  Guess  your  father's  takin'  a  big  chance/'  said  Mallins- 
bee  thoughtfully. 

But  their  serious  astonishment  was  too  great  a  strain  for 
Gordon.  He  began  to  laugh. 

"  It's  my  belief  life's  too  serious  to  be  taken  seriously,  so 
the  chance  he's  taken  don't  worry  me  as,  maybe,  it  ought," 
he  said.  "  You  see,  my  father's  a  good  sportsman,  and  he 
sees  most  things  the  way  every  real  sportsman  sees  'em  — 
where  his  son's  concerned.  Morally  I  owe  him  one  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars.  I  say  morally.  Well,  I  guess  we 
talked  together  some.  I  —  well,  maybe  I  made  a  big  talk, 
like  fellows  of  my  age  and  experience  are  liable  to  make  to 
a  fellow  of  my  father's  age  and  experience.  Then  I  sort 
of  got  a  shock,  as  sometimes  fellows  of  my  age  making  a 
big  talk  do.  In  about  half  a  minute  I  found  a  new  meaning 
for  the  word  '  bluff.'  I  thought  I'd  got  its  meaning  right 
before  that.  I  thought  I  could  teach  my  father  all  there 
was  to  know  about  bluff.  You  see,  I'd  forgotten  he'd  lived 
thirty-three  more  years  than  I  had.  Bluff?  Why,  I'd 
never  heard  of  it  as  he  knew  it.  The  result  is  I've  got  to 
make  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  six  months  or  forfeit 
my  legitimate  future."  Then  he  added  with  the  gayest, 
most  buoyant  laugh,  "  Say,  it's  a  terrible  thing  to  think  of. 
It's  dead  serious.  It's  as  serious  as  an  inter-university  ball 
game." 

The  lurking  smile  had  returned  to  Mallinsbee's  eyes,  and 
Hazel  frankly  joined  in  Gordon's  laugh. 

"  And  you've  come  to  Snake's  Fall  to  —  to  make  it  ?  " 
she  cried. 


86  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"I  can't  just  say  that,"  returned  Gordon. 

"  No."  Mallinsbee  shook  his  head,  and  the  two  men  ex- 
changed meaning  glances.  Then  the  old  man  went  on  with 
his  food  and  spoke  between  the  mouthfuls.  "  You  had  an 
office?" 

"  Sure.     You  see,  I  was  my  father's  secretary." 

"  Secretary?  "     Mallinsbee  looked  up  quickly. 

Gordon  nodded. 

"  That's  what  he  called  me.  I  drew  the  salary  —  and 
my  allowance.  It  was  an  elegant  office  —  what  little  I  re- 
member of  it." 

The  old  man's  regard  was  very  nearly  a  broad  laugh. 

"  Say,  you  made  a  talk  about  an  '  innocent's '  life  gettin' 
all  mussed  up?  " 

Gordon  nodded  with  profound  seriousness. 

"  Sure,"  he  replied.  "  Mine.  I  don't  guess  you'll  deny 
my  innocence."  Mallinsbee  shook  his  head.  "  Good," 
Gordon  went  on ;  "  that  makes  it  easy.  If  you  don't  make 
good  I  lose  my  chance.  I'm  going  to  put  my  stake  in  your 
town  plots." 

The  rancher  regarded  him  steadily  for  some  moments. 
Then  — 

"  Say,  what's  your  stake  ?  "  he  inquired  abruptly. 

Gordon  had  nothing  to  hide.  There  was,  it  seemed  to 
him,  a  fatal  magnetism  about  these  people.  The  girl's  eyes 
were  upon  him,  full  of  amused  delight  at  the  story  he  had 
told;  while  her  father  seemed  to  be  driving  towards  some 
definite  goal. 

"  Five  thousand  dollars.  That  and  a  few  hundred  dol- 
lars I  had  to  my  credit  at  the  bank.  It  don't  sound  much," 
he  added  apologetically,  "  but  perhaps  it  isn't  quite  impos- 
sible." 


AT  BUFFALO  POINT  87 

"  I  don't  guess  there's  a  thing  impossible  in  this  world 
for  the  feller  who's  got  to  make  good/'  said  Mallinsbee. 
"  You  see,  you've  got  to  make  good,  and  it  don't  matter  a 
heap  if  your  stake's  five  hundred  or  five  thousand.  Say, 
talk's  just  about  the  biggest  thing  in  life,  but  it's  made  up 
of  hot  air,  an'  too  much  hot  air's  mighty  oppressive.  So 
I'll  just  get  to  the  end  of  what  I've  to  say  as  sudden  as  I 
can.  I  guess  my  gal's  right,  I'm  just  crazy  to  beat  the 
'  sharps '  on  this  land  scoop,  and  I'm  going  to  do  it  if  I  get 
brain  fever.  Now  it's  quite  a  proposition.  I've  got  to 
play  the  railroad  and  all  these  ground  sharks,  and  see  I  get 
the  juice  while  they  only  get  the  pie-crust.  I'm  needing  a  — 
we'll  call  him  a  secretary.  Hazel  is  all  sorts  of  a  bright 
help,  but  she  ain't  a  man.  I  need  a  feller  who  can  swear 
and  scrap  if  need  be,  and  one  who  can  scratch  around  with 
a  pen  in  odd  moments.  This  thing  is  a  big  fight,  and  the 
man  who's  got  the  biggest  heart  and  best  wind's  going  to 
win  through.  My  wind's  sound,  and  I  ain't  heard  of  any 
heart  trouble  in  my  family.  Now  you  ken  come  in  in  town 
plots  so  that  when  the  boom  comes  they'll  net  you  that 
one  hundred  thousand  dollars.  You  don't  need  to  part 
with  that  stake  —  yet.  The  deal  shall  be  on  paper,  and  the 
cash  settlement  shall  come  at  the  finish.  Meanwhile,  if  need 
be,  for  six  months  you'll  put  in  every  moment  you've  got  on 
the  work  of  organizing  this  boom.  Maybe  we'll  need  to 
scrap  plenty.  But  I  don't  guess  that'll  come  amiss  your 
way.  We'll  hand  this  shanty  over  for  quarters  for  you, 
and  we'll  share  it  as  an  office.  This  ain't  philanthropy ;  it's 
business.  The  man  who's  got  no  more  sense  than  to  call  a 
bluff  to  make  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  six  months 
is  the  man  for  me.  He'll  make  it  or  he  won't.  And,  any- 
way, he's  going  to  make  things  busy  for  six  months.  You 


88  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

ain't  a  'sharp'  now  —  or  I  wouldn't  hand  you  this  talk. 
But  I'm  guessin'  you'll  be  mighty  near  one  before  we're 
through.  We've  got  to  graft,  and  graft  plenty,  which  is 
a  play  that  ain't  without  attractions  to  a  real  bright  feller. 
You  see,  money's  got  a  heap  of  evil  lyin'  around  its  root- 
well,  the  root  of  things  is  gener'ly  the  most  attractive. 
Guess  I've  used  a  deal  of  hot  air  in  makin'  this  proposi- 
tion, but  you  won't  need  to  use  as  much  in  your  answer  — 
when  you've  slept  over  it.  Say,  if  food's  through  we'll  get 
busy,  Hazel." 

Mrs.  James  Carbhoy  was  in  bed  when  she  received  her 
morning's  mail.  Perhaps  she  and  her  millionaire  husband 
were  unusually  old-fashioned  in  their  domestic  life.  Any- 
way, James  Carbhoy's  presence  in  the  great  bedstead  be- 
side her  was  made  obvious  by  the  heavy  breathing  which, 
in  a  less  wealthy  man,  might  have  been  called  snoring,  and 
the  mountainous  ridge  of  bedclothes  which  covered  his 
monumental  bulk. 

A  querulous  voice  disturbed  his  dreams.  He  heard  it 
from  afar  off,  and  it  merged  with  the  scenes  he  was  dwell- 
ing upon.  A  panic  followed.  He  had  made  a  terrible 
discovery.  It  was  his  wife,  and  not  the  president  of  a  rival 
railroad,  who  was  stealing  the  metals  of  a  new  track  he 
was  constructing  as  fast  as  he  could  lay  them. 

He  awoke  in  a  cold  sweat.  He  thought  he  was  lying  in 
the  cutting  beside  the  track.  His  wife  had  vanished.  He 
rubbed  his  eyes.  No,  she  hadn't.  There  she  was,  sitting 
up  in  bed  with  a  sheaf  of  papers  in  her  hand.  He  felt 
relieved. 

Now  her  plaint  penetrated  to  his  waking  consciousness. 

"For  goodness'  sake,  James,"  she  cried,  "quit  snoring 


AT  BUFFALO  POINT  89 

and  wake  up.  I  wish  you'd  pay  attention  when  I'm  speak- 
ing. I'm  all  worried  to  death/' 

The  multi-millionaire  yawned  distressingly. 

"  Most  folks  are  worried  in  the  morning.  I'm  worried, 
too.  Go  to  sleep.  You'll  feel  better  after  a  while." 

"  It's  nothing  to  do  with  the  morning,"  complained  his 
wife.  "  It's  —  it's  a  letter  from  Gordon.  The  poor  boy 
writes  such  queer  letters.  It's  all  through  you  being  so 
hard  on  him.  You  never  did  have  any  feeling  for  —  for 
anybody.  I'm  sure  he's  suffering.  He  never  talked  this 
way  before.  Maybe  he  don't  get  enough  to  eat;  he  don't 
say  where  he  is  either.  Perhaps  he's  just  nowhere  in  par- 
ticular. You'd  better  ring  up  an  inquiry  bureau " 

"  For  goodness'  sake  read  the  letter,"  growled  the  drowsy 
man.  "  You're  making  as  much  fuss  as  a  hen  with  bald 
chicks." 

Mrs.  Carbhoy  withered  her  husband  with  a  glance  that 
fell  only  upon  the  back  of  his  great  head.  But  she  had  her 
way.  She  meant  him  to  share  in  her  anxiety  through  the 
text  of  the,  to  her,  incomprehensible  letter.  She  read 
slowly  and  deliberately,  and  in  a  voice  calculated  to  rivet 
any  wandering  attention. 

"  DEAREST  MUM  : 

f<  There's  folks  who  say  that  no  man  knows  the  real 
meaning  of  luck,  good  or  bad,  till  he  takes  to  himself  a 
wife.  This  may  be  right.  My  argument  is,  it's  only  par- 
tially so.  There  may  be  considerable  luck  about  matri- 
mony. For  instance,  if  any  fool  man  came  along  and  mar- 
ried our  Gracie  he'd  be  taking  quite  a  chance.  Her  native 
indolence  and  peevishness  suggest  possibilities.  Her  tongue 
is  vitriolic  in  one  so  young,  as  I  have  frequently  had  reason 


90  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

to  observe.  This  would  certainly  be  a  case  where  the  man 
would  learn  the  real  meaning  of  luck.  But  there  wouldn't 
be  a  question.  His  luck  would  be  out  —  plumb  out.  Jonah 
would  have  been  a  mascot  beside  him. 

"  This  is  by  the  way. 

"  I  argue  luck  can  be  appreciated  fully  through  channels 
less  worrying.  When  luck  gets  busy  around  its  coming  is 
kind  of  subtle.  It's  sudden,  too ;  kind  of  butts  in  unnoticed, 
sometimes  painfully,  and  generally  without  shouting. 
Maybe  it  happens  with  a  bump  or  a  jar.  Personally  I'm 
betting  on  the  'bump'  play.  A  bump  of  that  nature  got 
busy  my  way  when  I  arrived  here.  I  now  have  a  full  ap- 
preciation of  luck.  Quite  as  full  an  appreciation  as  the 
man  would  who  married  our  Gracie.  But  in  my  case  I 
guess  it's  good  luck.  This  isn't  going  to  tell  you  all  that's 
in  my  mind,  but,  seeing  I  haven't  fallen  for  fiction  yet,  I 
guess  I  won't  try  to  be  more  explicit.  Luck,  in  my  present 
position,  means  the  coming  responsibility  of  success.  You 
might  hand  this  on  to  the  old  Dad. 

"  Talking  of  the  old  Dad,  it  seems  to  me  that,  for  a  deli- 
cate digestion,  baked  custard  and  fruit  have  advantages  over 
ice-cream  as  a  sweet.  This  again  is  by  the  way. 

"  In  my  last  letter  I  gave  you  a  few  first  impressions  on 
arrival  at  my  destination.  Now,  if  you'll  permit,  I'll  add 
what  I  might  call  the  maturer  reflections  of  a  mind  wide 
awake  to  life  as  it  really  is,  and  to  the  inner  meaning  of 
those  things  which  are  so  carefully  hidden  from  one  brought 
up  in  luxury,  as  I  have  been.  One  of  the  '  dead  snips  '  this 
way  is  that  cleverness  and  wisdom  are  often  confused  by 
the  ignorant.  Cleverness  don't  mean  wisdom,  and  —  vice 
versa.  For  instance,  loafing  idly  down  a  main  street  six 
inches  deep  in  a  dust  that  would  shame  a  blizzard  when  the 


AT  BUFFALO  POINT  91 

wind  blows,  with  a  blazing  sun  scorching  the  marrow  of 
the  spine  till  it's  ready  to  be  spread  out  on  toast,  escorted 
by  an  army  of  disgusting  flies  moving  in  massed  formation, 
and  not  knowing  better  than  to  drive  your  soul  to  perdition 
through  the  channel  of  extreme  bad  language,  don't  sug- 
gest cleverness.  Yet  there  may  surely  be  a  deal  of  wisdom 
in  it  if  it  only  keeps  you  from  doing  something  a  heap  more 
foolish.  Maybe  this  don't  sound  altogether  bright,  but 
there's  quite  a  deal  in  it.  Think  it  out.  Another  thought 
is  that  learning's  quite  a  sound  proposition.  For  instance,  a 
superficial  knowledge  of  geology  may  come  mighty  handy 
at  unexpected  moments.  A  knowledge  of  this  served  me  at 
a  critical  moment  only  to-day.  So  you  see  an  intimate  ac- 
quaintance with  sharp  flints,  collected  —  the  acquaintance, 
not  the  flints  —  during  my  time  as  the  possessor  of  an  auto- 
mobile, which  the  Dad  provided  me  with  and  for  the  upkeep 
of  which  he  so  kindly  paid,  has  likely  had  more  influence 
upon  my  future  life  than  the  best  talk  ever  handed  out  by  a 
Fifth  Avenue  preacher  ever  would  have  done.  I  have  no 
thought  of  being  irreverent.  I  am  merely  handing  you  a 
fact.  People  say  that  missed  opportunities  always  make 
you  hate  to  think  of  them  in  after  life.  For  my  part,  I've 
generally  figured  this  to  be  the  philosophic  hot  air  of  a  man 
who's  getting  old  and  hates  to  see  youth  around  him,  or  else 
the  chin  mush  of  some  fool  man  who's  never  had  any  op- 
portunities, talking  through  the  roof  of  his  head.  I  kind 
of  see  it  different  now.  You  gave  me  the  opportunity  of 
studying  all  the  beauties  of  the  world  seen  through  an  art- 
ist's life.  I  guessed  at  the  time  that  would  be  waste  of 
precious  moments  that  might  be  spent  chasing  athletics. 
It's  only  to-day  I've  got  wise  to  what  a  heap  I've  lost  in 
twenty- four  years.  Colors  just  seemed  to  me  messy  mix- 


92  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

tures  only  fit  to  spoil  paper  and  canvas  with.  Well,  to-day 
I've  hit  on  something  in  the  way  of  color  that's  just  about 
set  me  crazy  to  see  it  all  the  time.  It's  a  sort  of  yellowy, 
greeny  brown.  That  don't  sound  as  merry  as  it  might,  but 
to  me  it  talks  plenty.  It's  just  the  dandiest  color  ever.  I  dis- 
covered it  out  on  a  '  long,  lone  trail ' —  that's  how  folks  talk 
in  books  —  where  the  surroundings  weren't  any  improve- 
ment on  just  plain  grass.  Say,  Mum,  I  guess  that  color  is 
great.  It  gets  a  grip  on  you  so  you  don't  seem  to  care  if 
a  local  freight  train  comes  along  and  dissects  your  vitals, 
and  chews  them  up  ready  for  making  a  delicatessen  sausage. 
When  I  die  I'll  just  have  to  have  my  shroud  dyed  that  color, 
and  my  coffin  fixed  that  way,  too. 

"  This  isn't  so  much  of  a  passing  thought  as  the  others. 
Guess  some  folks  might  figure  it  to  be  a  disease.  Maybe 
the  old  Dad  would.  Well,  I  shan't  kick  any  if  I  die  of  it. 

"  Talking  of  Art,  I'm  just  beginning  to  get  a  notion  that 
curves  are  wonderful,  wonderful  things.  These  days  of 
mechanical  appliances  I've  always  regarded  drawing  such 
things  by  hand  as  positively  ridiculous.  I  don't  think  that 
way  now.  If  I  could  only  draw  the  wonderful  curves  I 
have  in  mind  now,  why,  I  guess  I'd  go  right  on  drawing 
them  till  the  birds  roosted  in  my  beard  and  my  bones  were 
right  for  a  tame  ancestral  skeleton. 

'  The  daylight  of  knowledge  is  sort  of  creeping  in. 

"  I've  learned  that  frame  houses  have  got  Fifth  Avenue 
mansions  beat  a  mile,  and  the  smell  of  a  Chinee  can  become 
a  dollar-and-a-half  scent  sachet  in  given  circumstances. 
I've  learned  that  real  sportsmanship  isn't  confined  to  ath- 
letics by  any  means,  and  a  lame  chestnut  horse  can  be  a  most 
friendly  creature.  I've  discovered  that  one  man  of  pur- 
pose isn't  more  than  fifty  per  cent,  of  two,  when  both  are 


AT  BUFFALO  POINT  93 

yearning  one  way.  I'm  learning  that  life's  a  mighty  pleas- 
ant journey  if  you  let  it  alone  and  don't  worry  things.  It's 
no  use  kicking  to  put  the  world  to  rights.  It's  going  to 
give  you  a  whole  heap  of  worry,  and,  anyway,  the  world's 
liable  to  retaliate.  Also  I'd  like  to  add  that,  though  I  guess 
I'm  gathering  wisdom,  I  don't  reckon  I've  got  it  all  by  quite 
a  piece. 

"  Having  given  you  all  the  news  I  can  think  of  I  guess  I'll 
close. 

"  Your  affectionate  son, 

"  GORDON. 

"  P.S. —  My  remarks  about  Gracie  are  merely  the  privi- 
leged reflections  of  a  brother.  When  she  grows  up  I  dare 
say  she'll  be  quite  a  bully  girl.  It  takes  time  to  get  sense. 

"  G." 

"  I  don't  understand  it,  anyway,"  sighed  Gordon's 
mother,  as  she  laid  the  letter  aside.  "  You'll  have  to  get 
him  back  to  home,  James.  He's  suffering.  We'll  send  out 
an  inquiry " 

She  broke  off,  glancing  across  at  the  mass  of  humanity 
so  peacefully  snoring  at  the  far  side  of  the  bed,  and,  after 
a  brief  angry  moment,  resigned  herself  to  the  reflection 
that  men,  even  millionaires,  were  perfectly  ridiculous  and 
selfish  creatures  who  had  no  right  whatever  to  burden  a 
poor  woman's  life  with  the  responsibility  of  children. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   FIRST    CHECK 

It  was  characteristic  of  Gordon  to  act  unhesitatingly  once 
a  decision  was  arrived  at.  The  consideration  of  Silas  Mai* 
linsbee's  generous  offer  was  the  work  of  just  as  many  sec- 
onds as  it  took  the  rancher  to  make  it  in.  Though,  verbally, 
it  was  left  for  a  decision  the  next  day,  Gordon  had  no  doubts 
in  his  mind  whatever  as  to  the  nature  of  that  decision. 

When  he  returned  to  McS wain's  sheltering  roof,  when 
another  meal  had  been  devoured  in  the  evening,  when  the 
soup-like  contents  of  the  wash-trough  had  been  stirred  in 
the  doubtful  effort  of  cleansing  himself,  when  the  busy  flies 
had  gone  to  join  the  birds  in  their  evening  roost,  he  betook 
himself  to  his  private  bathroom,  and  sat  himself  upon  his 
questionable  bed  and  gave  himself  up  to  reflection,  endeav- 
oring to  apply  some  of  the  wisdom  he  believed  himself  to 
have  already  acquired. 

But  the  application  was  without  useful  effect. 

He  began  by  an  attempt  to  review  the  situation  from  a 
purely  financial  standpoint,  and  in  this  endeavor  he 
stretched  out  his  great  muscular  limbs  along  his  bed,  and 
propped  his  broad  back  against  the  wall  with  a  dogged  do- 
or-die look  upon  his  honest  face. 

At  once  a  mental  picture  of  Hazel  Mallinsbee  obscured 
the  problem.  He  dwelt  on  it  for  some  profoundly  pleasant 
moments,  and  then  resolutely  thrust  it  aside. 

Next  he  started  by  frankly  admitting  that  Mallinsbee's 


THE  FIRST  CHECK  95 

offer  left  him  a  certain  winner  all  along  the  line  —  if  things 
went  right.  Good.  If  things  went  wrong  —  but  they 
couldn't  go  wrong  with  those  wonderful  yellowy  brown 
eyes  of  Hazel's  smiling  encouragement  upon  him.  The 
thought  was  absurd. 

Again  for  some  time  his  problem  was  obscured.  But 
after  a  few  minutes  he  set  his  teeth  and  attacked  it  afresh. 

Of  course,  if  things  did  go  wrong  he  was  done  —  abso- 
lutely finished.  His  six  months  would  have  expired,  his 
stake  would  have  melted  into  thin  air.  His  whole  fu- 
ture    But  he  would  have  spent  six  months  at  Hazel's 

side,  working  upon  something  that  was  obviously  very  dear 
to  her  brave  and  loyal  heart.  What  more  could  a  man  de- 
sire? 

He  felt  his  great  muscles  thrill  with  a  mighty  sense  of 
restrained  effort.  Was  there  any  thought  in  the  world  so 
inspiring  as  that  which  had  the  support  of  the  most  won- 
derful creature  he  had  ever  met  for  its  inspiration?  He 
thought  not.  His  pulses  stirred  at  the  bare  idea  of  being 
Hazel  Mallinsbee's  companion  all  those  weeks  and  months. 
Of  course  it  would  mean  nothing  to  her.  She  was  far  too 
clever,  and  —  and  altogether  brainy  to  give  him  a  second 
thought.  But  he  felt  he  could  help  her.  He  felt  that  to 
go  back  home  with  the  knowledge  that  he  —  he  had  been 
one  of  the  prime  factors  in  her  achieving  the  hope  of  her 
life  would  not  be  without  compensations.  Compensations? 
He  wondered  what  form  such  compensations  took.  They 
certainly  would  need  to  be  considerable  for  the  loss  of  such 
a  companionship. 

He  thought  of  the  vision  he  had  seen  upon  the  trail. 
The  beautifully  rounded  figure.  The  graceful  movements, 
so  obviously  natural.  Then  those  eyes,  and 


96  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

He  smiled  and  abandoned  all  further  attempt  to  consider 
seriously  the  offer  he  had  received.  What  was  the  use? 
His  good  fortune  was  certainly  running  in  a  strong  tide. 
To  attempt  to  steer  a  course  was  to  fly  in  the  face  of  his 
own  luck.  No,  he  would  swim  with  it,  let  it  take  him 
whither  it  might.  Meanwhile,  Hazel  had  promised  to  meet 
him  on  the  morrow,  and  show  him  the  great  coal  seam, 
after  which  he  was  to  interview  her  father,  and  have  supper 
at  the  —  office.  Forthwith  he  hastily  retired  to  his  nightly 
game  of  hide-and-seek  amongst  the  hummocks  of  flock  in 
his  disreputable  bed,  that  the  long  hours  of  night  might  the 
more  speedily  merge  into  a  golden  to-morrow. 

The  next  day  Gordon,  at  an  early  hour,  spent  something 
over  fifty  dollars  on  a  pair  of  ready-made  riding-breeches 
and  boots.  For  once  in  his  life  he  felt  that  the  faithful 
Harding  had  been  found  wanting.  Somehow,  in  arriving 
at  this  conclusion,  he  had  forgotten  the  episode  of  the  five- 
cent-cigar  man.  Anyhow,  the  purchase  had  to  be  made, 
since  it  was  necessary  to  ride  out  to  the  coal  seams. 

It  was  during  the  time  spent  on  these  matters  an  incident 
occurred  which  caused  him  some  irritation.  He  saw  in  the 
distance,  as  he  was  making  his  way  to  the  principal  store, 
the  pale-faced,  sickly-looking  creature  who  had  accosted 
Hazel  the  day  before.  The  sight  of  the  man  put  him  into  a 
bad  temper  at  once,  and  he  forthwith  gave  the  storekeeper 
all  the  unnecessary  trouble  he  could  put  him  to. 

Then,  on  returning  to  his  hotel,  he  discovered  the  man 
in  the  office  talking  to  Peter  McSwain.  His  swift  temper 
left  him  utterly  without  shame,  and  he  stood  and  stared  at 
the  object  of  his  dislike,  taking  him  in  from  head  to  foot 
with  profoundly  contemptuous  eyes. 


THE  FIRST  CHECK  97 

Somehow  his  inspection  made  him  feel  glad  he  disliked 
the  man.  He  was  a  broad-chested  person  with  aggressively 
cut  clothes.  His  black  hair  was  obviously  greased,  and  his 
general  cast  of  features  suggested  his  Hebrew  origin.  Gor- 
don had  no  grudge  against  him  on  this  latter  score.  It  was 
not  that.  It  was  the  narrow,  shifty  eyes,  the  hateful  way 
in  which  he  smoked  his  cigar,  with  its  flaming  band  about 
its  middle.  It  was  the  loud  coarse  laugh  and  general  air 
of  impertinent  arrogance  that  set  his  back  bristling.  And 
this  —  this  had  spoken  to  Hazel  Mallinsbee  only  the  day 
before. 

He  deposited  his  parcels  in  his  bathroom,  and  returned 
to  the  office  to  find  McSwain  by  himself.  He  had  no  hesi- 
tation in  satisfying  his  curiosity. 

"  Say,"  he  demanded,  in  a  crisp  tone.  "  Who  was  that 
rotten-looking  '  sharp '  you  were  yarning  to  when  I  came 
in?" 

Peter's  amiable  expression  underwent  the  ^most  trifling 
change. 

"  Guess  I  lost  ten  thousand  dollars  talkin'  that  way  once," 
he  said,  smelling  cautiously  at  one  of  his  own  cigars. 

Gordon  promptly  snapped  back. 

"  Maybe  I've  lost  more  than  that.  But  it  don't  cut  any 
ice.  Who  was  he  ?  " 

Peter  smiled  as  he  lit  his  cigar. 

"  David  Slosson.  Guess  he's  chief  robber  for  the  railroad 
company.  You've  seen  him.  Are  you  scared  any?  Say, 
we've  been  waitin'  to  hear  him  talk  two  days  now.  I  guess 
you  could  hand  us  a  bunch  of  emperors,  an'  kings,  an' 
princes,  an'  dust  over  'em  a  sprinkling  of  presidents,  but  I 
don't  reckon  you'd  stir  a  pulse  among  us  like  the  coming 
of  that  man  did  to  this  city.  That  feller's  right  here  to  put 


98  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

the  railroad  in  on  this  land  scoop.  When  he's  fixed  'em 
the  way  he  wants  we'll  hear  from  the  railroad." 

Gordon's  eyes  were  thoughtful. 

"  Chief  grafter,  eh?     He  surely  looks  it." 

"  Some  of  'em  do,"  agreed  Peter.  "  It's  my  belief  the 
best  of  'em  don't,  though,"  he  added  reflectively.  "  Yet  he 
surely  ought  to  be  right.  Railroads  don't  usual  graft  with 
anything  but  the  best.  He  was  talkin'  pretty,  too." 

"  Pretty  ?  More  than  he  looked,"  snorted  Gordon. 
Then  he  began  to  laugh.  "  Say,  you  and  I  are  pretty  well 
agreed  about  miracles.  I  sort  of  feel  it'll  have  to  be  one 
of  them  miracles  if  the  time  don't  come  when  I  knock  seven- 
teen sorts  of  stuffing  out  of  that  man.  I  feel  it  coming  on 
like  a  disease.  You  know,  creeping  through  my  bones,  and 
getting  to  the  tips  of  my  fingers.  I'd  like  to  spoil  his  store 
suit  in  the  mud,  and  beautify  his  features  with  your  (  hoss ' 
soap,  and  drown  'em  in  —  well,  what's  in  your  washing- 
trough." 

Peter's  smile  was  cordial  enough  at  the  forcefulness  of 
his  young  guest.  He  had  not  forgotten  that  Gordon  was  a 
friend  of  Mallinsbee. 

"  I  wouldn't  play  that  way  till  we  see  how  he's  buying," 
he  said  cautiously. 

"  Play?  "  Gordon  laughed  and  shook  his  head.  "  Well, 
perhaps  you're  right.  It  certainly  will  be  some  play." 

After  midday  dinner  Gordon  set  out  on  one  of  Mike  Cal- 
lahan's  horses  to  keep  his  appointment  with  Hazel  Mallins- 
bee. All  his  ill-humor  of  the  morning  was  forgotten,  and 
he  looked  forward  with  unalloyed  pleasure  to  his  afternoon, 
which  was  to  culminate  in  his  entering  into  his  agreement 
with  her  father. 

Hazel  was  waiting  for  him  on  the  veranda  of  the  office. 


THE  FIRST  CHECK  99 

Her  horse,  a  fine  brown  mare,  was  standing  ready  saddled. 
Gordon  noted  the  absence  of  Sunset,  and  understood,  but 
he  noted  also  that  her  smile  of  welcome  was  lacking  some- 
thing of  the  joyous  spirit  she  had  displayed  the  night  be- 
fore. 

"  Sunset  off  duty  ?  "  he  inquired,  as  he  came  up  and  leaped 
out  of  the  saddle  to  assist  her. 

Hazel  scorned  his  assistance.  She  was  in  the  saddle 
almost  before  he  was  aware  of  her  intention. 

"  Sunset's  father's,"  she  said.  "  The  Lady  Jane  is  my 
saddle  horse.  She's  the  most  outrageous  jade  on  the  ranch. 
That's  why  I  like  her.  Every  moment  I'm  in  the  saddle 
she's  trying  to  get  the  bit  between  her  teeth.  If  she  suc- 
ceeded she'd  run  till  she  dropped."  Then,  with  a  deliberate 
effort,  she  seemed  to  thrust  some  shadow  from  her  mind 
as  they  set  off  at  a  brisk  canter.  "  You  know,  father's  just 
dying  to  show  you  the  ranch.  He's  quite  quaint  and  boy- 
ish. He  takes  likes  and  dislikes  in  the  twinkle  of  an  eye, 
and  before  all  things  in  his  life  comes  his  wonderful  ranch. 
I'll  tell  you  a  secret,  Mr.  Van  Henslaer.  The  day  you  — 
arrived,  after  he'd  told  me  just  how  you  had  arrived,  he 
said,  '  I'd  like  to  get  that  boy  working  around  this  lay  out. 
I  like  the  look  of  him.  He  don't  know  a  lot,  but  he  can  do 
things.5  He's  certainly  taken  one  of  his  wonderful,  im- 
pulsive fancies  to  you.  He's  very  shrewd,  too." 

Gordon  laughed. 

"  Now  I  wonder  how  I  ought  to  take  that.  I'm  all  sorts 
of  a  fool,  but  I  can  hit  hard.  That's  about  his  opinion  of 
me,  eh?" 

Hazel's  eyes  were  slyly  watching  him.  She  shook  her 
head. 

"  That's  not  it,"  she  smiled  back.     "  You  don't  know  my 


ioo  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

daddy.  He  might  say  that,  but  there's  a  whole  lot  of  other 
thoughts  stumbling  around  in  his  funny  old  head.  If  he 
wants  you  he  thinks  you  can  do  more  than  hit  hard." 

The  humor  of  it  all  got  hold  of  Gordon. 

"  Good/'  he  cried,  with  one  of  his  whole-hearted  laughs. 
"Now  I'll  let  you  into  a  secret.  This  is  a  great  secret. 
One  of  those  secrets  a  feller  generally  hangs  on  tight  to  be- 
cause he's  half  ashamed  of  it.  I  can  do  more  than  hit 
hard!" 

Then  he  became  serious,  and  it  was  the  girl's  turn  to  find 
amusement. 

"  You  see,  I've  been  raised  in  a  bit  of  a  hothouse. 
Maybe  it's  more  of  a  wind  shelter,  though.  You  know, 
where  the  rough  winds  of  modern  life  can't  get  through 
the  crevices  and  buffet  you.  That's  why  I  fell  for  that 
sharp  on  the  train.  That's  why  I  bumped  head  first  into 
Snake's  Fall.  That's  why  your  daddy  thinks  I  don't  know 
a  lot.  But  I  tell  you  right  here  I've  got  to  make  that  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars  in  six  months,  and  I'm  going  to  do  it 
by  hook  or  crook,  if  there's  half  a  smell  of  a  chance.  I've 
no  scruples  whatsoever.  I  just  must  make  it,  or  —  or  I'll 
never  face  my  father  ever  again.  Do  you  get  me  ?  What- 
ever you  have  at  stake  in  this  land  proposition,  it's  just  noth- 
ing to  what  I  have.  And  you'll  know  what  I  mean  when  I 
say  it's  just  the  youthful  pride  and  foolish  egoism  of  twenty- 
four  years.  Say,  do  you  know  what  it  means  to  a  kid  when 
he's  dared  to  do  some  fool  trick  that  may  cost  his  life? 
Well,  that's  my  position,  but  I've  done  the  daring  for  my- 
self. My  mood  about  this  thing  is  the  sort  of  mood  in 
which,  if  I  couldn't  get  that  money  any  other  way,  I'd  will- 
ingly hold  up  a  bullion  train." 

The  girl  nodded.     For  a  moment  she  made  no  attempt 


THE  FIRST  CHECK  101 

to  answer  him.  She  was  gazing  out  ahead  at  a  point  where 
signs  of  busy  life  had  made  themselves  apparent.  Some- 
thing of  the  shadow  that  had  been  in  her  eyes  at  their  meet- 
ing had  returned.  Gordon  was  watching  them,  and  a  quick 
concern  troubled  him. 

"Say,"  he  observed  anxiously.  "You're  —  worried.  I 
saw  it  when  I  came  up/' 

The  girl  endeavored  to  pass  his  inquiry  off  lightly. 

"  Worried  ?  "  she  shook  her  head.  "  The  anxieties  of  the 
business  are  on  my  poor  daddy's  shoulders,  and  will  soon 
be  on  yours.  They're  not  on  mine." 

But  Gordon  was  not  easily  put  off.  He  edged  his  horse 
closer  to  her  side. 

"  But  you  are  worried,"  he  declared  doggedly.  Then  he 
added  more  lightly,  "  Til  take  a  chance  on  it.  It's  —  a  man. 
And  he's  got  a  sort  of  whitewash  face,  and  black,  shoe- 
shined  hair.  He's  got.  a  nose  you'd  hate  to  run  up  against 
with  any  vital  part.  As  for  his  clothes,  well  —  a  blind  man 
would  hate  to  see  'em." 

The  girl  turned  sharply. 

"  What  makes  you  think  that  way  ?  " 

Gordon  smiled  triumphantly. 

"  Guess  I've  been  trying  to  impress  you  with  the  fact  that 
foolishness  —  like  beauty  —  is  only  skin  deep.  The  for- 
mer applies  to  me.  The  latter  —  well,  I  guess  I  must  have 
just  read  about  —  that." 

"If  you're  not  careful  you'll  convince  me,"  Hazel  laughed. 

"  That's  one  of  the  things  I'm  yearning  to  do." 

"  You're  talking  of  David  Slosson,"  she  challenged 
him. 

Gordon  nodded. 

"The  railroad's  —  chief  grafter." 


102  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  And  a  hateful  creature." 

"  Who's  started  right  away  to  —  annoy  you  —  from  the 
time  he  got  around  Snake's  Fall." 

A  great  surprise  was  looking  back  into  Gordon's  eyes. 

"  You're  guessing.  You  can't  know  that,"  Hazel  said, 
with  decision. 

"  Maybe.  Say," —  Gordon's  eyes  were  half  serious,  half 
smiling  — "  a  girl  don't  push  her  way  past  a  man  when  he's 
talking  to  her  if  —  he  isn't  annoying  her." 

"  Then  you  saw  him  stop  me  on  Main  Street  yesterday?  " 

"  Sure."  Then,  after  a  pause,  Gordon  went  on,  "  Say, 
tell  me.  We're  to  be  fellow  conspirators." 

Just  for  one  moment  Hazel  Mallinsbee  looked  him 
straight  in  the  eyes.  She  was  thinking,  thinking  swiftly. 
Nor  were  her  thoughts  unpleasant.  For  one  thing  she  had 
realized  that  which  Gordon  had  wished  her  to  realize  — 
that  he  was  no  fool.  She  was  seeing  that  something  in  him 
which  doubtless  her  father  had  been  quick  to  discover.  She 
was  thinking,  too,  of  his  direct,  almost  dogged  manner  of 
driving  home  to  the  purpose  he  had  in  view,  and  she  told 
herself  she  liked  it.  Then,  too,  all  unconsciously,  she  was 
thinking  of  the  open,  ingenuous,  smiling  face  of  his.  The 
handsome  blue  eyes  which  were  certainly  his  chief  attrac- 
tion in  looks,  although  his  other  features  were  sound 
enough.  She  decided  at  once  that  for  all  these  things  she 
liked  him  and  trusted  him.  Therefore  she  admitted  her 
worries. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  it's  David  Slosson  —  and  your  descrip- 
tion of  him  is  too  good.  He's  been  here  two  days.  He 
came  here  the  day  before  you.  He  came  out  to  see  father 
directly  he  arrived,  but,  as  you  know,  father  was  away.  I 
had  to  see  him.  And  it  wasn't  pleasant.  Maybe  you  can 


THE  FIRST  CHECK  103 

guess  his  attitude.  I  don't  like  to  talk  of  it.  He  took  me 
for  some  silly  country  girl,  I  s'pose.  Anyway  I  got  rid  of 
him.  Then  he  saw  me  yesterday."  Suddenly  her  face 
flushed,  and  an  angry  sparkle  shone  in  her  eyes.  "  His 
sort  ought  to  be  raw-hided,"  she  declared  vehemently. 
Then,  after  a  pause,  in  which  she  choked  her  anger  back, 
"  We  got  a  note  from  him  this  morning  to  say  he'd  be  along 
this  afternoon.  Father's  going  to  see  him.  And  I  was 
scared  to  death  you  wouldn't  get  along  in  time.  That's  why 
I  was  waiting  ready  for  you,  and  hustled  you  off  without 
seeing  father.  I  was  scared  the  man  would  get  around 
before  we  were  away.  I  haven't  said  a  word  to  my  daddy. 
You  see  he'd  kill  him,"  she  finished  up,  with  a  whimsical  lit- 
tle smile. 

Gordon  was  gazing  out  ahead  at  the  great  coal  workings 
they  were  now  approaching.  But  though  he  beheld  a  small 
village  of  buildings,  and  an  astonishing  activity  of  human 
beings  and  machinery,  for  the  time,  at  least,  they  had  no  in- 
terest for  him. 

"  I  knew  I  was  up  against  that  man  directly  I  saw  him 
peeking  into  that  store  after  you,"  he  said  deliberately. 
"  Miss  Mallinsbee,  I'm  going  to  ask  you  all  sorts  of  a  big 
favor.  We  three  are  going  to  work  together  for  six 
months.  Well,  any  time  you  feel  worried  any  by  that  fel- 
ler, don't  go  to  your  daddy,  just  come  right  along  to  me.  I 
guess  it  would  puzzle  more  than  your  daddy  to  kill  him 
after  I've  done  with  him.  I  don't  guess  it's  the  time  to  talk 
a  lot  about  this  thing  now.  I  don't  sort  of  fancy  big  talk 
that  way,  anyhow.  All  I  ask  you  is  to  let  me  know,  and 
to  be  allowed  to  keep  my  own  eyes  on  him." 

Hazel  shook  her  head. 

"  I  don't  think  I  can  promise  you  anything  like  that,"  she 


104  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

said  seriously.  "But  I  —  thank  you  all  the  same.  You 
see,  out  here  a  girl's  got  to  take  her  own  chances,  and  I'm 
not  altogether  helpless  that  way."  Then  she  definitely 
changed  the  subject  and  pointed  ahead.  "  There,  what  do 
you  think  of  it?  " 

"  Think  of  it?  Why,  he's  a  low  down  skunk!"  cried 
Gordon  fiercely,  unable  any  longer  to  restrain  his  feelings. 

"I  wasn't  speaking  of  him.  It!"  the  girl  laughed. 
"  The  coalpits." 

"  Oh !  "  There  was  no  responsive  laugh  from  Gordon. 
Then  he  added  with  angry  pretense  of  enjoyment,  "  Fine!  " 

For  nearly  two  hours  they  wandered  round  the  embryonic 
coal  village,  examining  everything  in  detail,  and  not  without 
a  keen  interest.  The  place,  hidden  away  amongst  the  higher 
foothills,  was  a  perfect  hive  of  industry.  Great  masses  of 
machinery  were  lying  about  everywhere,  waiting  their  turn 
for  the  attention  of  the  engineers.  Wooden  buildings  were 
in  the  course  of  construction  everywhere.  A  small  army  of 
miners  and  their  wives  and  children  had  already  taken  up 
their  abode,  and  the  men  were  at  work  with  the  engineers  in 
the  preparatory  borings  already  in  full  operation. 

Even  to  Gordon's  unpracticed  eye  there  was  little  doubt 
of  the  accuracy  of  the  information  he  had  received  relating 
to  Snake's  Fall.  Here  there  was  everything  required  to 
provoke  the  boom  he  had  been  warned  of.  Here  was  an 
evidence  that  the  boom  would  be  a  genuine  one  built  on  the 
solid  basis  of  great  and  lasting  commercial  interest.  Long 
before  they  started  on  their  return  journey  he  congratulated 
himself  heartily  upon  the  accident  which  had  brought  him 
into  the  midst  of  such  an  enterprise,  and  thanked  his  stars 
for  the  further  chance  which  had  brought  him  into  contact 
with  the  train  "  sharp,"  and  so  with  Silas  Mallinsbee. 


THE  FIRST  CHECK  105 

It  was  getting  on  towards  the  time  for  the  Mallinsbees' 
evening  meal  when  the  little  frame  house  once  more  came 
within  view.  There  was  a  decided  charm  in  its  isolation. 
On  all  sides  were  the  undulations  of  grass  which  denoted 
the  first  steps  towards  the  foothills.  There  was  a  wonder- 
ful radiance  of  summer  sheen  upon  the  green  world  about 
them,  and  the  brightness  of  it  all,  and  the  pleasantness,  set 
Gordon  thinking  of  the  pity  that  all  too  soon  it  would  be 
broken  up  almost  entirely  by  those  black  and  gloomy  signs 
of  man's  industry  when  the  resources  of  the  old  world  have 
to  be  tapped. 

However,  he  was  content  enough  with  the  moment.  The 
sky  was  blue  and  radiant,  the  earth  was  all  so  green,  and 
the  wide,  wide  world  opened  out  before  him  in  whatever 
direction  he  chose  to  gaze.  While  beside  him,  sitting  her 
mare  with  that  confident  seat  of  a  perfect  horsewoman,  was 
the  most  beautiful  girl  in  all  the  world,  a  girl  in  whose 
companionship  he  was  to  spend  the  next  six  months.  The 
gods  of  Fortune  were  very,  very  good  to  him,  and  he  smiled 
as  the  vision  of  his  sportsman  father  flashed  through  his 
mind. 

But  his  moments  of  pleasant  reflection  were  abruptly  cut 
short. 

Hazel  had  suddenly  raised  one  pointing  arm,  and  a  note 
of  concern  was  in  her  voice. 

"  Look/'  she  cried.     "  Something's  —  upset  my  daddy." 

Gordon  looked  in  the  direction  of  the  house. 

Silas  Mallinsbee  was  pacing  the  veranda  at  a  gait  that 
left  no  doubt  in  his  mind.  It  was  the  agitated  walk  of  a 
man  disturbed. 

"What's  the  matter?"  demanded  Gordon,  with  some 
concern. 


io6  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  It  looks  like  —  David  Slosson,"  said  Hazel,  in  a  hard 
voice. 

They  rode  up  in  silence,  and  the  girl  was  the  first  to  reach 
the  ground. 

"  Daddy "  she  began  eagerly. 

But  her  father  cut  her  short.  The  flesh-tinted  patch, 
which  Gordon  had  almost  forgotten,  which  he  used  to  cover 
his  left  eye  with,  was  thrust  up  absurdly  upon  his  forehead. 
His  heavy  brows  were  drawn  together  in  an  angry  frown. 
His  tufty  chin  beard  was  aggressively  thrust,  his  two  great 
hands  were  stuck  in  the  waist  of  his  trousers,  which  gave 
him  further  an  air  of  truculence. 

"  Say/'  he  cried,  his  deep,  rolling  voice  now  raised  to  a 
pitch  of  thunder,  "  it's  taken  me  fifty-six  years  to  come  up 
with  what  I've  been  chasing  all  my  life.  Say,  I've  spent 
years  an'  years  huntin'  around  to  find  something  meaner 
than  a  rattlesnake.  Guess  I  come  up  with  him  to-day." 

"  David  Slosson,"  cried  Hazel,  her  eyes  wide  with  her 
anger. 

Her  father  waved  her  aside  as  she  came  towards  him. 

"  No,  don't  you  butt  in.     I've  got  to  let  off  hot  air,  or  - 
or  — I'll  bust." 

He  paced  off  down  the  little  veranda,  and  came  back 
again.  Then  he  stood  still,  and  suddenly  brought  one  great 
fist  down  with  terrific  force  into  his  other  palm. 

"  Gee,  but  it's  tough.  Say,  you  ever  tried  to  hold  a  slimy 
eel  ?  "  he  cried,  glaring  fiercely  into  Gordon's  questioning 
eyes.  "  No?  It's  a  heap  of  a  dirty  and  unsatisfact'ry  job, 
but  it  ain't  as  dirty  as  dealing  with  Mr.  David  Slosson,  nor 
half  as  unsatisfact'ry.  You  can  stamp  your  heel  on  it,  and 
crush  it  into  the  ground.  With  David  Slosson  you  just  got 
to  talk  pretty  and  fence  while  you  know  he's  got  you  beat 


THE  FIRST  CHECK  107 

all  along  the  line,  an'  all  the  time  you're  just  needin'  to  kilt 
him  all  to  death.  Of  all  the  white-livered  bums.  Say,  if 
only  the  good  God  would  push  him  right  into  these  two 
hands  an'  say  squeeze  him.  Say-  He  held  out  his 

two  clenched  fists  as  though  he  were  wringing  out  a  sponge. 

Gordon  raked  his  hair  with  one  hand. 

"  Do  you  need  to  worry  that  way,  Mr.  Mallinsbee  ?  I 
owe  him  some  myself." 

The  old  man  glared  for  some  moments.  Then  a  subtle 
smile  crept  into  his  eyes.  Hazel  saw  it,  and  seized  the  op- 
portunity. 

"  Let's  get  right  inside  and  have  food.  You  can  tell  us 
then,  Daddy.  You  see,  Mr.  Van  Henslaer's  one  of  our 
confederates  now.  He's  come  along  to  tell  you  so." 

It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  Hazel  contrived  to  pacify 
her  father,  but  at  last  she  succeeded  in  persuading  him  to 
partake  of  the  pleasant  meal  provided  by  Hip-Lee. 

Gordon  was  glad  when  at  last  they  all  sat  down.  The 
appetizing  smell  of  coffee,  the  delicious  plates  of  cold  meats, 
the  glass  dishes  of  preserves,  and  steaming  hot  scones,  all 
these  things  appealed  to  the  accumulated  appetite  conse- 
quent upon  his  ride. 

"  Now  tell  us  all  about  it,"  Hazel  demanded,  when  the 
meal  was  well  under  way. 

Old  Mallinsbee,  still  with  the  absurd  eye-shade  upon  his 
forehead,  had  recovered  his  humor,  and  he  poured  out  his 
story  in  characteristic  fashion. 

"  Wall,"  he  said,  "  maybe  I  was  hot  when  you  come  up. 
He'd  been  gone  best  part  of  an  hour.  During  that  time  I'd 
been  sort  of  bankin'  the  furnaces.  Gordon  Van  Henslaer, 
my  boy,  I  hate  meanness  worse  'n  any  devil  hated  holy  water. 


108  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

Ther's  all  sorts  of  meanness  in  this  world,  and  ther'  ain't 
no  other  word  to  describe  it.  Killing  can  be  just  every  sort 
of  thing  from  justifiable  homicide  down  to  stringin'  up 
some  black  scallywag  by  the  neck  for  doin'  the  same  things 
white  folks  do  an'  get  off  with  a  caution.  The  feller  that 
steals  ain't  always  to  blame.  As  often  as  not  we  need  to 
blame  the  general  community.  Lyin's  mostly  a  disease,  an' 
when  it  ain't  I  guess  it's  a  sort  of  aggravated  form  of  com- 
mercial enterprise,  or  the  budding  of  a  great  newspaper 
faculty.  You  can  find  excuse,  or  other  name,  fer  most 
every  crime  of  human  nature — 'cept  meanness.  David 
Slosson  is  just  the  chief  ancestor  of  all  meanness,  an'  when 
I  say  that,  why  —  it's  some  talk.  He's  here  to  put  the  rail- 
road in  on  the  land  scoop,  and,  in  that  respect,  I  guess  he's 
all  I  could  have  expected.  We  were  making  elegant  talk. 
Or,  I  guess,  he  was  mostly.  He  said  his  chiefs  had  sent 
him  up  to  see  how  the  general  public  could  best  be  served 
by  his  road  with  regard  to  this  coal  boom,  and  I  told  him  I 
was  dead  sure  that  railroads  never  failed  in  their  service  of 
the  public.  I  pointed  out  I  had  always  observed  it. 

'  That  talk  of  mine  seemed  to  open  up  the  road  for 
things,  and  I  handed  him  a  good  cigar  and  pushed  a  highball 
his  way.  Then  he  made  a  big  music  of  railroads  in  general, 
and  talked  so  pious  that  it  set  me  yearnin'  for  my  bed. 
Then  I  got  wide  awake.  Say,  I  ain't  done  a  heap  in  chapel 
goin'  recently,  but  I've  sort  of  got  hazy  recollections  of  sit- 
ting around  dozing,  while  the  preacher  doped  a  lot  of  ele- 
gant hot  air  about  things  which  kind  of  upset  your  notions 
of  life  generally.  Then  I  seem  to  recollect  getting  a  sack 
pushed  into  my  face,  and  I  got  visions  of  the  terrible  scare 
of  its  coming,  and  the  kind  of  nervous  chase  for  that  quar- 
ter that  I  could  have  sworn  I'd  set  ready  in  my  pocket  for 


THE  FIRST  CHECK  109 

such  an  emergency.  That's  how  I  felt  —  nervous.  He 
was  talkin'  prices  of  plots. 

"  Wai,  I  got  easy  after  awhile,  and  we  fixed  things  ele- 
gant. The  railroad  was  to  get  a  dandy  bunch  of  plots  at 
bedrock  prices,  if  they  built  the  depot  right  here  at  Buffalo 
Point.  And  that  feller  was  quick  to  see  that  I  was  out  for 
the  interests  of  the  public,  and  to  make  things  easy  for  the 
railroad.  So  he  talked  pretty.  Then  —  then  he  hooked 
me  a  '  right.'  He  asked  me  plumb  out  how  he  stood.  I 
was  ready  for  him.  I  said  that  nothing  would  suit  me  bet- 
ter than  he  should  come  in  the  same  way  with  the  railroad." 
He  shook  his  head  regretfully.  "  That  man  hadn't  the  con- 
science of  a  louse.  He  was  yearning  for  twenty  town  plots, 
in  best  positions,  five  of  'em  being  corner  plots,  in  the  com- 
mercial area  for  —  nix !  I  was  feeling  as  amiable  as  a  she 
wild-cat,  and  I  told  him  there  was  nothing  doing  that  way. 
He  said  he'd  hoped  better  from  my  public-spirited  remarks. 
I  assured  him  my  public  spirit  hadn't  changed  a  cent.  He 
said  he  was  sure  it  hadn't,  and  was  astonished  what  a  strong 
public  spirit  was  shown  around  the  whole  of  Snake's  Fall. 
He  said  that  the  old  town  was  just  the  same  as  Buffalo 
Point.  They  were  most  anxious  to  help  the  railroad  out, 
too.  Which,  seeing  the  depot  —  the  old  depot  —  was  al- 
ready standing  there,  made  it  a  cinch  for  the  railroad. 
They  were  dead  anxious  to  save  the  railroad  trouble  and  ex- 
pense. I  pushed  another  highball  at  him,  but  he  guessed  he 
hadn't  a  thirst  any  more,  and  one  cigar  was  all  he  ever 
smoked  in  an  afternoon.  Then  he  oozed  off,  and  I  was 
glad.  I  guess  homicide  has  its  drawbacks." 

"  High  '  graft,'  "  said  Gordon. 

"  Maybe  it's  '  high,'  "  said  Mallinsbee,  with  a  smile  in 
which  there  was  no  mirth.  "  Guess  I  wouldn't  spell  it  that 


no  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

way  myself.  There's  just  one  thing  certain:  if  my  side 
of  the  game  has  to  go  plumb  to  hell  David  Slosson  don't 
get  his  graft  the  way  he  wants  it.  And  that's  what  you 
and  me  are  up  against/' 

"  And  we'll  beat  him." 

"  We  got  to." 

"You  and " 

"  You,"  cried  Mallinsbee,  thrusting  out  a  hand  towards 
him  across  the  table. 

The  two  men  gripped.  Gordon  had  joined  the  conspira- 
tors. 


CHAPTER  X 

GORDON    MAKES    HIS    BID    FOR    FORTUNE 

Gordon's  new  address  was  Buffalo  Point,  and,  entering 
upon  his  duties,  he  felt  like  some  Napoleon  of  finance  about 
to  embark  upon  a  market-breaking  scheme  in  which  the 
brilliancy  of  his  manipulations  were  to  shine  forth  for  the 
illumination  of  the  pages  of  history,  yet  to  be  written. 

That  was  how  he  felt.  Those  were  the  feelings  of  the 
moment.  Later  the  burden  of  his  responsibilities  obscured 
the  Napoleonic  image,  and  raised  up  in  his  mind  a  thought 
as  to  the  wisdom  of  butting  one's  head  against  a  brick  wall. 

However,  for  the  time  at  least  the  joy  of  responsibility 
was  considerable,  and  the  greater  joy  of  the  companionship 
and  trust  of  his  new  friends  was  something  which  inspired 
him  to  great  efforts. 

He  studied  the  affairs  of  Buffalo  Point  with  a  care  for 
detail  and  an  assiduity  which  quickly  became  the  surprise 
and  delight  of  Silas  Mallinsbee.  He  went  over  every  foot 
of  the  new  township  as  laid  out  by  a  well-known  firm  of 
town  planners  from  New  York  under  Mallinsbee's  orders 
and  under  State  supervision.  He  spent  one  entire  day  in 
studying  the  drawn  plans,  and,  finally,  having  committed 
all  the  details  to  memory,  he  felt  himself  equipped  to  devote 
his  whole  attention  to  the  cajoling  of  the  railroad  which 
was  the  sum  and  substance  of  their  combined  efforts. 

In  the  first  week  of  his  occupation  he  learned  many  things 


ii2  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

which  had  been  obscure.  He  took  the  story  of  Mallins- 
bee's  operations  and  examined  it  closely,  discovering  in  the 
process  that  he  possessed  a  faculty  for  clear  reasoning  alto- 
gether surprising.  Furthermore,  he  discovered  that  Mal- 
linsbee,  though  possibly  unpracticed  in  the  work  of  a  big 
financial  undertaking,  yet  possessed  all,  and  more,  of  the 
shrewdness  he  had  vaguely  suspected. 

One  of  the  first  efforts  of  the  old  man  had  been  to  secure 
the  interest  of  many  of  the  chief  traders  in  the  old  town- 
ship of  Snake's  Fall.  Also  that  of  the  Bude  and  Sicleley 
Coal  Company.  This  had  been  done  very  simply  but  ef- 
fectively. After  having  marked  off  the  town  sites  he  re- 
quired for  himself  he  had  then  offered,  and  sold,  to  pretty 
well  every  landowner  in  Snake's  Fall  a  certain  allotment 
of  sites  at  a  merely  nominal  fee.  This,  as  the  man  himself 
declared  in  the  course  of  his  story,  left  Snake's  Fall  pretty 
well  "  not  carin'  a  whoop  which  way  the  old  cat  jumped." 
The  "  cat  "  in  this  instance  being  the  railroad. 

In  this  way  direct  and  active  opposition  from  the  land- 
holders of  Snake's  Fall  was  minimized.  As  he  explained, 
it  was  "  graft,"  but  he  felt  that  it  was  justifiable.  This  left 
him  with  the  good  will  of  the  citizens  and  free  to  act  on 
broader  lines.  Then  he  began  to  pull  all  the  wires  he  could 
command  with  the  coal  people,  who  regarded  him  in  the 
friendliest  spirit.  However,  there  was  difficulty  here, 
though  the  difficulty  was  not  insurmountable.  Their  en- 
gineers were  at  work  already  on  the  plans  to  be  put  into 
almost  immediate  operation  for  the  construction  of  a  pri- 
vate track  to  link  up  the  coalfields  with  Snake's  Fall.  With 
them  it  was  a,  question  of  time.  They  could  not  afford 
delay,  and  the  exploitation  of  the  new  township  would  mean 
delay  for  them,  although  they  admitted  they  would  be  re- 


GORDON  MAKES  HIS  BID  FOR  FORTUNE      113 

lieved  of  a  great  expense  from  its  proximity  to  their  work- 
ings. 

Mallinsbee,  after  stupendous  efforts,  and  careful  nego- 
tiations of  the  right  kind,  finally  effected  a  compromise. 
He  was  given  three  months,  of  which  already  one  week  had 
elapsed,  in  which  to  obtain  the  definite  assurance  that  the 
railroad  would  accept  Buffalo  Point  as  the  new  city.  In 
the  meantime  the  coal  people's  construction  would  be  held 
up,  and  they  would  assist  him  with  all  the  influence  they 
could  command  in  persuading  the  railroad.  This  conces- 
sion was  not  unaided  by  considerable  graft,  and  the  graft 
took  the  form  of  an  agreement  that  Mallinsbee,  out  of  his 
own  pocket,  would  construct  them  a  coal  depot  and  yards 
in  conjunction  with  the  railroad,  and  hand  them  the  titles 
of  the  land  necessary  for  it. 

He  had  just  returned  from  the  east,  where  he  had  been 
in  consultation  with  the  Bude  and  Sideley  people,  and  with 
whom  he  had  ratified  this  agreement,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
the  railroad  had  been  induced  to  move  in  the  matter.  All 
along  he  had  triumphed  through  the  agency  of  graft,  and 
the  crowning  point  of  his  triumph  had  been  demonstrated 
in  the  arrival  at  Snake's  Fall  of  Mr.  David  Slosson. 

Gordon's  first  impressions  of  all  these  things  was  that 
Silas  Mallinsbee  had  contrived  with  considerable  skill,  and 
that  all  was  more  or  less  plain  sailing.  All  that  remained 
was  to  go  on,  with  the  grafting  hand  thrust  ready  into  the 
pocket  for  all  eventualities,  and  he  found  himself  smiling 
at  the  thought  of  his  father,  and  how  surely  his  own  theo- 
ries of  financial  undertakings  were  working  out. 

That  was  his  first  impression.  But  it  only  lasted  until 
he  became  aware  of  those  subtleties  of  human  nature  lying 
behind  human  effort  and  intention.  He  had  reckoned 


ii4  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

without  David  Slosson,  and,  more  than  all,  he  had  reckoned 
without  Silas  Mallinsbee  himself. 

During  that  first  week  of  his  new  work  David  Slosson 
had  called  at  the  office  twice.  Once  he  had  encountered 
only  Gordon,  and  Hazel  had  arrived  during  the  visit.  The 
second  time  he  had  had  another  interview  with  Silas  Mal- 
linsbee. It  was  immediately  after  that  interview  that  Gor- 
don gained  some  appreciation  of  the  -point  where  human 
psychology  stepped  into  the  arena  of  commercial  competi- 
tion. 

The  revelation  came  in  Silas  Mallinsbee's  own  statement 
of  the  result  of  that  interview. 

"  Gordon,  my  boy,"  he  said.  He  had  quickly  abandoned 
the  use  of  Gordon's  formal  address.  "  If  that  feller  gets 
around  here  too  frequent  with  his  blackmail,  I'm  going  to 
kill  him." 

Then  he  thrust  the  patch  over  his  left  eye  high  up  on  to 
his  forehead,  and  Gordon  realized  the  angry  light  shining 
in  the  man's  eyes.  With  one  eye  covered  his  face  had  al- 
most been  expressionless.  His  evident  surprise  at  this 
realization  did  not  fail  to  attract  the  rancher's  attention. 

His  angry  eyes  softened  to  a  smile  of  amusement. 
'You're  wonderin'  'bout  that  patch?"  he  went  on. 
"  Wai,  when  I  get  up  against  a  feller  who's  brighter  than 
I  am  in  a  deal,  I  don't  figure  to  take  chances.  Ever  played 
'  draw  '  with  a  one-eyed  man  ?  No  ?  Wai,  I  did  —  once. 
An'  I  ain't  recovered  from  all  he  taught  me  yet.  He  taught 
me  that  two  eyes  can  just  about  give  away  double  as  much 
as  one.  Which,  in  financial  dealings,  is  quite  a  piece.  I 
guess  that  patch  has  saved  me  quite  a  few  dollars  in  its  time. 
An'  it  makes  me  kind  of  sore  to  think  I  didn't  meet  that 
one-eyed  '  sharp '  earlier  in  life." 


GORDON  MAKES  HIS  BID  FOR  FORTUNE      115 

Gordon  nodded  as  he  folded  up  the  plan  of  the  town  lying 
on  his  desk. 

"  You  were  using  it  on  —  Mr.  David  Slosson;  Say,  is 
he  smart,  or  is  he  just  a  —  crook?  " 

Mallinsbee  rose  from  his  chair  and  moved  cumbersomely 
over  to  the  doorway,  and  stood  with  his  back  turned,  gaz- 
ing out. 

"  I  ain't  fixed  him  that  way  —  yet.  He's  sure  a  crook, 
anyway.  That's  a  cinch.  'Bout  the  other  we'll  know  later. 
Say,  I'm  open  to  graft  anybody  on  this  thing  —  reasonably. 
It's  part  of  the  game.  It's  more.  It's  the  game  itself. 
But  I  don't  submit  to  blackmail." 

"  There  doesn't  seem  much  difference,"  said  Gordon, 
drawing  some  letter-paper  towards  him,  and  preparing  to 
write. 

The  other  remained  where  he  was,  moodily  gazing  out  at 
the  hills  where  his  beloved  ranch  lay. 

"  You'd  think  not  —  but  there  is,"  Mallinsbee  went  on. 
"  You  graft  an  organization  when  you're  needin'  some- 
thing from  them  which  they  ain't  under  obligation  to  them- 
selves to  do.  That's  buying  and  selling,  and,  as  things  go, 
there  ain't  much  kick  coming.  But  when  you've  done  that, 
and  their  favor's  fixed  right,  it's  blackmail  if  their  servants 
come  along  and  refuse  to  carry  out  their  work  if  you  don't 
pay  their  price.  This  feller  Slosson  is  a  servant  of  the 
railroad.  I'm  ready  to  graft  all  they  need.  He's  out  for 
blackmail.  That  feller  wrants  to  be  paid  something  for 
nothing,  He  don't  do  a  thing  for  us.  He's  got  to  do  the 
work  I'm  paying  the  railroad  for.  See?  Say,  Gordon, 
boy,  happen  what  likes  I  won't  do  it.  That  feller  don't 
make  one  cent  out  of  me.  I'm  on  the  buck,  an'  I  don't 
care  a  curse." 


Ii6  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

Mallinsbee  had  turned  about  to  deliver  his  irrevocable 
decision,  and,  as  Gordon  met  the  man's  serious,  obstinate 
expression,  he  realized  something  of  the  psychology  lying 
behind  a  big  financial  transaction. 

If  Slosson  had  been  a  man  of  reasonable  grafting  dis- 
position, if  he  had  been  a  pleasant,  amiable  personality,  if 
he  had  been  a  —  man,  if  Silas  Mallinsbee  had  been  used  to 
affairs  such  as  his  father  dealt  in  —  well — .  But  it  was 
useless  to  speculate  further.  He  only  saw  a  troublous  sit- 
uation growing  up  for  him  to  contend  with. 

"  We've  got  to  get  him  playing  our  game/'  he  hazarded. 

"  That  we'll  never  do.  We're  playing  a  straight  bid 
for  a  win.  He  couldn't  play  a  straight  bid  for  any- 
thing." 

"  No."  There  was  a  great  cordiality  in  Gordon's  nega- 
tive. 

"  It's  us  who've  got  to  play  him  —  someways." 
It's  some  proposition,"  mused  Gordon. 

:It  surely  is.  There's  ways."  Mallinsbee  laughed 
shortly.  "  Maybe  I'll  hand  him  over  to  Hazel."  Then  he 
gave  another  short  laugh.  "  Guess  the  ranch  '11  interest 
him  some  —  too." 

Gordon's  eyes  lit  apprehensively. 

"  I  wouldn't  do  that,"  he  said  almost  sharply. 

Mallinsbee  faced  about. 

"Why  not?  Hazel's  a  bright  girl.  She's  as  wise  as 
any  two  men.  A  crook  don't  worry  her  a  thing." 

"I  guess  all  that's  right  enough.  But  —  she's  a  girl, 
and  —  I  don't  seem  to  feel  it's  fair  to  her." 

Mallinsbee  remained  silent  for  some  moments.  Gordon 
watched  the  broad  back  of  the  great,  lolling  figure  in  the 
doorway  with  an  alarm  he  would  not  have  displayed  had  he 


te 


GORDON  MAKES  HIS  BID  FOR  FORTUNE      117 

been  facing  him.  Then  the  sound  of  clattering  hoofs  out- 
side broke  up  the  silence  and  the  old  man  turned. 

"  Here  she  is,"  he  cried,  with  a  shadowy  smile.  "  Guess 
she  can  speak  for  herself." 

Gordon  could  have  cursed  the  luck  that  had  brought  the 
girl  there  at  that  moment.  He  understood  the  depth  of 
her  devotion  to  her  father  and  his  enterprise.  Nothing 
could  have  been  less  opportune. 

But,  in  a  moment,  his  annoyance  became  lost  in  his  de- 
light at  the  sound  of  her  cheery  greeting. 

"  Hello,  Daddy,"  he  heard  her  call  out. 

Gordon  remained  where  he  was,  waiting  to  feast  his  eyes 
upon  the  fresh  beauty  of  this  girl,  who  occupied  so  large  a 
portion  of  his  thoughts. 

Her  father  stood  aside  to  allow  her  to  pass  in,  and  Gor- 
don had  his  reward  in  her  radiant  smile. 

"  How's  our  junior  partner?  "  she  cried  gayly. 

"  Feeling  just  about  ready  to  turn  the  office  into  a  twelve- 
foot  ring  and  —  hurt  somebody,"  the  junior  partner  re- 
torted quickly. 

Hazel  pulled  a  long  face. 

"  Is  it  that  way  ?  "  she  demanded,  and  turned  back  to  her 
father.  Then  she  added  playfully:  "What's  ruffled  the 
atmosphere  of  our  —  dovecote  ?  " 

The  old  man  began  to  chuckle. 

"  Dovecote  ?  "  he  said.  "  Guess  armed  fortress  comes 
nearer  describing  this  lay  out.  Anyway  the  temper  of  its 
occupants,"  he  added,  his  twinkling  eyes  on  the  determined 
features  of  his  protege.  "  Guess  I'll  get  goin'  out  to  the 
ranch  while  you  two  scrap  things  out.  Seems  to  me  I  need 
to  get  the  cobwebs  of  David  Slosson  out  of  my  head." 

He  took  his  departure  without  haste,  but  with  the  obvious 


ii8  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

intention  of  avoiding  any  further  discussion  of  David  Slos- 
son  for  the  present.  And  Gordon  was  not  sorry  for  his 
going.  He  felt  that  at  all  costs  his  suggestion  that  Hazel 
should  take  her  place  in  the  ring  with  this  man  Slosson  was 
not  to  be  thought  of. 

But  he  was  reckoning  without  Hazel  herself.  He  was 
calculating  with  all  a  man's  —  a  young  man's  —  assurance 
that  this  girl  would  regard  his  opinions  in  the  light  hje  re- 
garded them  himself. 

Hazel  sat  herself  upon  the  edge  of  his  desk,  and  flicked 
the  rawhide  quirt  against  the  leg  of  her  top  boot.  Her 
prairie  hat  was  thrust  back  from  her  forehead,  and  her 
pretty  tanned  face  was  turned  in  a  smiling  inquiry  upon 
Gordon. 

"  What  is  it?"  she  asked,  with  that  new  alertness  the 
man  had  come  to  regard  as  a  part  of  her  nature,  second  only 
to  her  delightful  camaraderie. 

He  smiled  back  into  her  merry  eyes. 

"  I'm  wondering  why  two  men  bent  on  a  joint  purpose 
can't  see  the  same  thing  in  the  same  light." 

"  Which  means  you  and  my  daddy  have  already  started 
an  argument  which  I'll  have  to  settle." 

Gordon  laughed. 

"  Guess  you'll  settle  it,  though  —  there's  no  need." 

"  Why  not?     If  you  can't  agree?  " 

"  We  do  agree." 
'Then  where's  the  argument?" 

"  There  isn't  one." 

Hazel  began  to  laugh. 

"  Why  did  you  say  there  was?  " 

"  I  didn't.     It  was  you  who  said  that." 

Hazel's  smile  had  died  away. 


GORDON  MAKES  HIS  BID  FOR  FORTUNE      119 

"  It's  Slosson,  of  course/'  she  said  decidedly.  And 
Gordon  began  to  wish  she  were  not  so  clearsighted,  nor  so 
direct  in  her  challenges. 

"  Oh,  he's  a  constant  thorn,"  he  said  evasively. 

"  Has  he  been  here  to-day?  " 

Gordon  nodded. 

"And  the  result?" 

"  Your  father  is  —  obdurate.  Says  he  won't  submit  to 
blackmail." 

"  Has  Slosson  abated  his  terms?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so." 

Hazel  rose  quickly  from  her  seat  on  the  desk.  She 
\valked  slowly  across  the  room  and  propped  herself  in  the 
doorway,  in  precisely  the  same  position  as  her  father  had  oc- 
cupied. Gordon's  eyes  watched  her  every  movement.  He 
knew  she  was  considering  deeply,  and  intuition  warned  him 
that  the  result  of  her  consideration  might  easily  conflict 
with  that  which  he  had  in  his  mind.  But  he  was  not  pre- 
pared for  the  announcement  which  came  a  moment  later. 

She  came  back  to  the  desk  quickly,  and  took  up  her  old 
place  on  it.  Her  pretty  lips  were  firmly  set,  and  she  gazed 
soberly  and  unflinchingly  down  into  Gordon's  apprehensive 
blue  eyes. 

"  I  shall  have  to  deal  with  David  Slosson,"  she  said 
quietly.  Then,  with  a  light,  expressive  shrug :  "  It  won't 
be  pleasant  —  not  by  quite  a  lot.  But  —  it's  got  to  be  done, 
and  done  quickly.  Father  won't  give  way,  so  —  he  must." 

But,  in  a  moment,  Gordon's  protest  came  with  all  the 
enthusiasm  of  his  impulsive  nature.  To  think  of  this  beau- 
tiful child  having  to  defile  herself  by  cajoling  a  creature 
like  this  Slosson  moved  him  to  a  pitch  of  distraction. 
Whatever  else  he  did  not  know,  he  knew  the  meaning  of 


120  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

expression  when  men  gaze  at  women.     And  he  had  not  for- 
gotten his  first  morning  in  Snake's  Fall. 

"  Miss  Mallinsbee,"  he  cried,  his  big  body  leaning  for- 
ward in  his  earnestness,  and  all  his  feelings  displayed  in  his 
ingenuous  face,  "  I'd  rather  let  this  thing  go  plumb  smash 
than  that  you  should  be  brought  into  contact  with  that 
filthy  scum  again.  Say,  you're  too  young,  and  good,  to  un- 
derstand such  creatures.  I  know " 

Hazel  was  smiling  whimsically  down  into  his  anxious 
eyes. 

"  And  you're  so  old  and  wise  you  can  see  plumb  through 
him,"  she  cried.  Then  with  an  exact  reproduction  of  his 
manner,  she  leaned  forward  so  that  their  faces  were  within 
a  foot  of  each  other.  "  You  two  Solomons  can't  deal  with 
him  worth  two  cents.  My  daddy's  too  obstinate,  and  you  - 
are  too  prejudiced.  He's  got  to  be  dealt  with,  and  I'm 
going  to  do  it.  In  a  case  like  this  a  girl's  wiser  than  any 
two  men." 

'  That's  —  just  how  your  father  argued,"  cried  Gordon, 
in  exasperation.  And  the  next  moment  he  could  have  bit- 
ten off  his  tongue. 

Hazel  clapped  her  hands. 

"  So  that  was  the  argument,"  she  cried  delightedly. 
"  My  daddy  in  his  wisdom  thought  of  me,  and  you  —  you 
being  just  a  big,  big  chivalrous  boy  with  notions,  couldn't 
see  the  same  way." 

Then  she  sat  up,  and  her  eyes  grew  very  serious.  That 
which  lay  behind  them  was  completely  hidden  from  her 
companion,  as  she  intended  it  to  be. 

Had  it  been  possible  for  him  to  have  read  her  approval 
of  himself  in  her  attitude,  he  now  made  it  beyond  question 
by  the  sudden  wave  of  heat  which  swept  through  his  heart. 


GORDON  MAKES  HIS  BID  FOR  FORTUNE      121 

"  I  tell  you,  you've  no  right  to  sacrifice  yourself,"  he  cried 
hotly.  "  Nor  has  your  father " 

"No  right?  Sacrifice?"  Hazel's  eyes  opened  wide, 
and  in  their  beautiful  depths  a  sparkle  of  resentment  shone. 
"  Who  says  that  ?  "  she  demanded.  Then  in  a  moment  her 
merry  thought  banished  the  clouds  of  her  displeasure.  She 
began  to  tease.  "  Why  shouldn't  I  do  this  ?  Say,  youVe 
roused  my  curiosity.  What's  the  danger?  I  —  I  just  love 
danger.  What  is  the  danger  I'm  running?  " 

But  Gordon's  sense  of  humor  was  unequal  to  her  teasing 
on  such  a  subject.  He  remained  sulkily  silent. 

"  I'm  waiting,"  Hazel  urged  slyly. 

Gordon  cleared  his  throat.  He  glanced  up  at  her  a  little 
helplessly.  Their  eyes  met,  and  somehow  he  caught  the 
infection  of  her  lurking  smile. 

He  was  forced  to  laugh  in  spite  of  himself. 

"If  —  if  you  don't  know,  it's  not  for  me  to  say,"  he 
cried  at  last,  with  a  shrug.  "  But  I  tell  you,  right  here,  if 
you  were  my  sister  you  wouldn't  go  near  Slosson,  if  I  had 
to  —  to  chain  you  up." 

"  But  I'm  not  your  sister,"  retorted  Hazel,  with  her  daz- 
zling smile.  "  And,  if  I  were,  I  shouldn't  be  a  sister  of 
yours  if  I  didn't."  Then  she  laughed  at  herself.  "  Say, 
isn't  that  real  bright  ? "  Then  with  a  great  pretense  at 
severity  she  flourished  an  admonitory  finger  at  him. 
"  Gordon  Van  Henslaer,"  she  said  solemnly,  "  you're  just 
as  obstinate  as  my  daddy,  but  you  haven't  got  his  wisdom." 
Her  pretense  passed  and  she  became  suddenly  very  earnest. 
'  This  thing  is  just  all  the  world  to  my  daddy,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  can  help  him.  Wouldn't  you  help  him  if  you  had 
such  a  dear,  quaint  old  daddy  as  I  have?  I'm  sure  you 
would.  What  does  it  matter  to  me  what  I  may  have  to 


122  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

put  up  with  if  I  can  help  him  out?  True,  it  doesn't  matter 
a  thing.  Insults?  Why,  I'll  just  deal  with  them  as  they 
come  along."  Then  her  mood  lightened.  "  Say,  we're 
just  two  real  good  friends,  Mr.  Van  Henslaer,  aren't  we? 
Friends.  It's  got  a  bully  sound.  That's  just  how  my 
daddy  and  I've  been  ever  since  my  poor  momma  died  years 
and  years  ago.  Heigho ! "  she  sighed.  "  And  now  I've 
got  another  friend,  and  that's  you.  Say,  we're  always  go- 
ing to  be  friends,  too,  because  you're  going  to  understand 
that  this  —  this  thing  is  business,  and  business  isn't  play. 
My  daddy  wants  to  make  good,  and  I'm  going  to  do  all  I 
know.  And,"  she  added  slyly,  "  that's  quite  a  lot.  Do 
you  know,  in  this  thing  I'm  dead  honest  when  I'm  dealing 
with  honest  folk,  and  I'm  a  '  sharp '  when  I'm  dealing 
with  '  sharps '  ?  By  that  I  just  mean  I'm  not  scared  of  a 
thing.  Certainly  of  nothing  Mr.  David  Slosson  can  do. 
My  daddy  can  trust  me,  and  he's  known  me  all  my  life. 
You've  only  known  me  a  week,  but  you  can  trust  me  too. 
I'm  out  to  help  things  along,  so  just  let's  forget  this  —  this 
talk." 

Gordon's  admiration  for  the  girl  was  so  obvious  that  no 
words  of  his  were  necessary  to  illuminate  it,  but  he  shook 
his  head  seriously  as  she  finished  speaking. 

"  I  just  can't  help  it,  Miss  Mallinsbee,"  he  said,  a  little 
desperately.  "If  anything  happened  to  you  I'd  never  for- 
give myself.  What  do  you  mean  to  do?  " 

Hazel  smiled  at  his  manner.  Her  smile  was  confident, 
but  it  was  also  an  expression  of  her  regard  for  him.  She 
had  no  intention  of  modifying  her  decision,  but  she  liked 
him  for  his  dogged  protest. 

'  You  just  leave  that  to  me,"  she  cried  buoyantly.     "  I 
haven't  an  idea  in  my  silly  head  —  yet.     All  I  can  say  is, 


GORDON  MAKES  HIS  BID  FOR  FORTUNE      123 

David  Slosson  is  to  be  encouraged.  He's  to  be  flattered. 
I'm  going  to  make  him  smile  real  prettily  with  that  mealy 
face  of  his.  Guess  I'll  have  to  take  him  out  rides  —  but 
I'll  promise  you  it  won't  be  my  fault  if  he  don't  break  his 
wicked  neck*" 

Gordon  was  forced  to  join  in  the  girl's  infectious  laugh, 
but  it  was  without  enjoyment.  To  think  of  this  man  riding 
at  Hazel's  side,  basking  in  her  smiles,  enjoying  her  company 
just  when  and  where  he  pleased.  The  thought  was  mad- 
dening. And  it  set 'his  fingers  tingling  and  itching  to  pos- 
sess themselves  of  his  throat  and  squeeze  the  life  out  of 
him. 

"And  how  long's  this  to  go  on  for?"  he  asked  sulkily, 
in  spite  of  his  laugh. 

Hazel's  eyes  opened  wide. 

"  Why  —  until  he  weakens,  and  we  get  things  fixed." 

"  And  if  he  beats  your  game?" 

"  He'll  hate  himself  first,  and  then  we'll  have  to  reor- 
ganize our  plans." 

"  Then  I  guess  I'll  get  busy  on  the  other  plans." 

"I  shall  be  beaten?" 

Gordon  glanced  away  towards  the  window.  His  eyes 
had  become  reflective. 

"  It's  the  only  thing  I  can  see,"  he  said  slowly.  "  He'll 
finish  by  insulting  you.  I  know  his  kind.  He'll  insult  you, 
sure.  And  I  —  well,  I  shall  just  as  surely  pretty  near  kill 
him.  And  then  we'll  need  other  —  plans." 


CHAPTER  XI 
HAZEL  MALLINSBEE'S  CAMPAIGN 

The  seductive  mystery  of  the  hills  was  beyond  all  words. 
A  wonderful  outlook  of  wide  valleys,  bounded  in  almost 
every  direction  by  the  vast  incline  of  wood-clad  hills,  opened 
out  a  world  that  seemed  to  terminate  abruptly  everywhere, 
yet  to  go  on  and  on  in  an  endless  series  of  great  green  val- 
leys and  mountain  streams.  Darkling  wood-belts  crept  up 
the  great  hillsides,  deep  in  mysterious  shadows,  stirring 
imagination,  and  carrying  it  back  to  all  those  haunting 
dreams  of  early  childhood.  For  the  most  part  these  were 
all  untrodden  by  human  foot,  and  so  their  mystery  deep- 
ened. Then  above,  often  penetrating  into  the  low-lying 
clouds,  the  crowning  glory  of  alabaster  peaks  whose  snowy 
sheen  dazed  the  wondering  eyes  raised  towards  them. 

In  the  valleys  below,  the  green,  the  wonderful  green, 
bright  and  delicate,  and  quite  unfaded  by  the  scorching  sun 
of  the  prairie  away  beyond.  Pastures  beyond  the  dreams 
of  all  animal  imagination  in  their  humid  richness.  Water, 
too,  and  low,  broken  scrubs  and  woodland  bluffs  —  one 
vast  panorama  of  verdant  beauty,  such  as  only  the  eye  of  an 
artist  or  the  heart  of  a  ranchman  could  appreciate. 

It  was  the  setting  of  Silas  Mallinsbee's  ranch,  that  ranch 
which  was  more  to  him  than  all  the  world,  except  his  moth- 
erless daughter.  Gordon  had  seen  it  all  as  he  rode  out  to 
spend  the  week-end  on  a  ranch  horse,  placed  by  Mallinsbee 
at  his  disposal.  He  had  marveled  then  at  the  delights 


HAZEL  MALLINSBEE'S  CAMPAIGN        125 

spread  out  before  his  eyes.  Now,  on  the  Sunday  morning, 
while  he  awaited  breakfast,  he  wondered  still  more  as  he 
examined,  even  more  closely,  that  wealth  of  natural  splen- 
dor spread  out  for  his  delight. 

He  was  lounging  on  the  deep  sun-sheltered  veranda  which 
faced  the  south.  The  ranch  house  was  perched  high  up 
on  the  southern  slope  of  one  of  the  lesser  hills.  Above  him 
the  gentle  morning  breeze  sighed  in  the  rustling  tree-tops 
of  a  great  crowning  woodland.  Below  him,  and  all  around 
him,  were  the  widespreading  buildings  and  corrals  of  a 
great  ranching  enterprise.  It  seemed  incredible  to  him 
that  within  twenty  miles  of  him,  away  to  the  east,  there 
could  exist  so  mundane  and  sordid  an  undertaking  as  the 
Bude  and  Sideley  Coal  Company,  and  the  vicious  chorus  of 
ground  sharks  which  haunted  Snake's  Fall.  He  felt  as 
though  he  were  gazing  out  upon  some  enchanted  valley  of 
dreamland,  where  the  soft  breezes  and  glinting  sunlight 
possessed  a  magic  to  rest  the  teeming  energy  of  modern 
highly  tuned  brain  and  nerves. 

Its  seductiveness  lulled  him  to  a  profound  meditation, 
and  into  his  dreaming  stole  the  figure  of  the  mistress  of 
these  miles  of  perfect  beauty.  Now  he  had  some  under- 
standing of  that  fascinating  buoyancy  of  spirit,  the  simple 
devotion  with  which  she  contemplated  the  life  that  claimed 
her.  How  could  it  be  otherwise?  Here  was  nature  in  all 
its  wonders  of  simplicity,  shedding  upon  the  life  sheltering 
at  its  bosom  an  equal  simplicity,  an  equal  strength,  an  equal 
singleness  of  mind  with  which  it  was  itself  endowed.  He 
felt  that  if  he,  too,  had  been  brought  up  in  such  surround- 
ings no  city  flesh-pots  could  ever  have  offered  him  any 
fascination.  He,  too,  must  have  felt  that  this  —  this  alone 
was  the  real  life  of  man. 


I26  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

The  play  of  the  dancing  sunlight  through  the  distant 
trees  held  his  gaze.  He  forgot  to  smoke,  he  forgot  every- 
thing except  the  beauty  about  him,  the  stirring  ranch  life 
below  him,  and  the  girl  whose  fascination  was  daily  pos- 
sessing a  greater  and  greater  hold  upon  him. 

Then,  quite  gently,  something  else  subtly  merged  itself 
with  the  pleasant  tide  of  his  meditations.  It  was  the  deep 
note  of  a  voice  which  came  from  close  beside  him  in  a 
rolling  bass  that  afforded  no  jar. 

"  A  picture  that's  mighty  hard  to  beat,"  it  said. 

Gordon  nodded  without  turning. 

"  Sure." 

"  Kind  of  holds  you  till  you  wonder  why  folks  ever 
build  cities  and  things." 

"  Sure." 

"  There  ain't  a  muck  hole  in  miles  and  miles  around  that 
you  could  fall  into,  and  not  come  out  of  with  a  clean  con- 
science an'  a  wholesome  mind.  Kind  of  different  to  a  city." 

Gordon  stirred.  He  turned  and  looked  into  Silas  Mall- 
insbee's  smiling  eyes. 

"It's  —  all  yours?"  he  inquired. 

"  For  miles  an'  miles  around.  I  got  nigh  a  hundred 
miles  of  grazing  in  these  hills  —  and  nobody  else  don't 
seem  to  want  it.  Makes  you  wonder." 

Gordon  laughed. 

"  Say,  set  a  spade  into  the  ground  and  find  a  marketable 
mineral  and  tell  somebody.  Then  see." 

Mallinsbee  chewed  an  unlit  cigar,  and  his  chin  beard 
twisted  absurdly. 

''  That's  it,"  he  said  slowly.  "  There's  nothing  to  these 
hills  as  they  are,  except  to  a  cattleman,  I  guess.  Cattle 
don't  suit  the  modern  man.  Your  profitable  crop's  a  three 


HAZEL  MALLINSBEE'S  CAMPAIGN         127 

years'  waiting,  and  that  don't  mean  a  thing  to  folk  now- 
adays, except  a  dead  loss  of  time  on  the  round-up  of  dol- 
lars. They  don't  figure  that  once  you're  good  and  going 
that  three  years'  crop  -comes  around  once  every  year.  So 
they  miss  a  deal." 

"  Yes,  they'd  reckon  it  slow,  I  guess,"  Gordon  agreed. 
"  But,"  he  went  on  with  enthusiasm,  "  the  life  of  it.  The 
air."  He  took  a  deep  breath  of  the  sparkling  mountain 
atmosphere.  "  It's  champagne.  The  champagne  of  life. 
Say,  it's  good  to  be  alive  in  such  a  place.  And  you,"  he 
gazed  inquiringly  into  the  man's  strong  face,  "you  began 
it  from  —  the  beginning?" 

"  I  built  the  first  ranch  house  with  my  own  hands.  My 
old  wife  an'  I  built  up  this  ranch  and  ran  it.  And  now 
it's  rich  and  big  —  she's  gone.  She  never  saw  it  win  out. 
Hazel's  took  her  place,  and  it's  been  for  her  to  see  it  grow 
to  what  it  is.  She  helped  me  ship  my  first  single  year's 
crop  of  twenty  thousand  beeves  to  the  market  ten  years 
ago.  She  was  a  small  kiddie  then,  and  she  cried  her  pretty 
eyes  out  when  I  told  her  they  were  going  to  the  slaughter 
yards  of  Chicago.  You  see,  she'd  known  most  of  'em  as 
calves." 

"  The  work  of  it  must  be  enormous,"  meditated  Gor- 
don, after  a  pause  in  which  he  had  pictured  that  small1 
child  weeping  over  her  lost  calves. 

"  So,"  rumbled  Mallinsbee.  "  We're  used*  to  it.  I  run 
thirty  boys  all  the  year  round,  and  more  at  round-up. 
Guess  if  I  was  missing  Hazel  wouldn't  be  at  a  loss  to 
carry  on.  She's  a  great  ranchman.  She  knows  it  all." 

"  Wonderful,"  Gordon  cried  in  admiration.  "  It's  stag- 
gering to  think  of  a  girl  like  that  handling  this  great  con- 
cern." 


128  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  There's  two  foremen,  though.  They've  been  with  us 
years,"  said  the  other  simply. 

But  Gordon's  wonder  remained  no  less,  and  Mallinsbee 
went  on  — 

"  After  breakfast  we'll  take  a  gun  and  get  up  into  those 
woods  yonder.  Maybe  we'll  put  up  a  jack  rabbit,  or  a 
blacktail  deer.  Anyway,  I  guess  there's  always  a  bunch 
of  prairie  chicken  around." 

"  Fine,"  cried  Gordon,  all  his  sporting  instincts  banish- 
ing every  other  thought.  "  Which " 

But  Hazel's  voice  interrupted  him,  summoning  them  both 
to  breakfast. 

"  Come  along,  folks,"  she  cried,  "  or  the  coffee  '11  be 
cold." 

The  men  hurried  into  the  house.  Gordon  felt  that  there 
was  nothing  and  no  power  on  earth  that  could  keep  him 
from  his  breakfast  in  that  delicious  mountain  air,  with 
Hazel  for  his  hostess. 

The  meal  was  all  he  anticipated.  Simple,  ample,  whole- 
some country  fare,  with  the  accompaniment  of  perfect  cook- 
ing. He  ate  with  an  appetite  that  set  Hazel's  merry  eyes 
dancing,  and  her  tongue  accompanying  them  with  an  equally 
merry  banter.  And  all  the  time  Silas  Mallinsbee  looked 
on,  and  smiled,  and  rumbled  an  occasional  remark. 

After  breakfast  the  two  men  set  out  with  their  guns. 

"We're  sure  making  Sunday  service,"  said  Hazel's 
father,  glancing  into  the  breech  of  his  favorite  gun. 

Gordon  concurred. 

"  Up  in  the  woods  there,"  he  laughed. 

"  With  a  congregation  of  fur  and  feather,"  laughed 
Hazel. 

"  Which  is  as  wholesome  as  petticoats  an'  swallowtails," 


HAZEL  MALLINSBEE'S  CAMPAIGN         129 

said  her  father,  "  an'  a  good  deal  more  healthy  f er  our 
bodies." 

"  But  what  about  your  souls  ?  "  inquired  Hazel  slyly. 

"Souls?"  Her  father  snapped  the  breech  closed.  "A 
soul's  like  a  good  sailin'  ship.  If  she's  driving  on  a  lee 
shore  it's  through  bad  seamanship  and  the  winds  of  heaven, 
and  you  can't  save  it  any\vay.  If  she  ain't  driving  on  a  lee 
shore  —  well,  I  don't  guess  she  needs  saving." 

"  It's  a  great  big  scallywag,"  came  through  the  open 
doorway  after  them,  as  they  departed.  The  tenderness 
and  affection  in  the  manner  of  the  girl's  parting  words 
made  Gordon  feel  that  his  great  host  had  some  compensa- 
tion for  the  absence  of  that  mother  who  had  blessed  him 
with  such  a  pledge  of  their  love. 

The  two  men  were  returning  with  their  bag.  It  was 
not  extensive,  but  it  was  select.  A  small  blacktail  was 
lying  across  Mallinsbee's  broad  shoulders.  Gordon  was 
carrying  a  large  jack-rabbit,  and  several  brace  of  prairie 
chicken.  The  younger  man  was  enthusiastic  over  their 
sport. 

"Talk  to  me  of  a  city!  Why,  I  could  do  this  twice  a 
day  and  every  day,  till  I  was  blind  and  silly,  and  deaf  and 
dumb.  I  sort  of  feel  life  don't  begin  to  tell  you  things  till 
you  get  out  in  the  open,  at  the  right  end  of  a  gun.  Makes 
you  feel  sorry  for  the  fellows  chasing  dollars  in  a  city." 

They  were  approaching  the  limits  of  a  woodland  bluff, 
from  the  edge  of  which  the  ranch  would  be  in  view. 

"Guess  that's  how  I've  always  felt  — till  little  Hazel 
got  without  a  mother,"  replied  Mallinsbee.  "After  that 
—  well,  I  just  guess  I  needed  other  things  to  fill  up  spare 
thoughts," 


i3o  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

Gordon's    enthusiasm    promptly    lessened    out    of    sym- 
pathy.    Something  of  the  loneliness  of  the  ranch  life  — 
when  one  of  the  partners  was  taken  —  now  occurred  to 
him. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  earnestly,  "  the  right  woman's  just  the 
whole  of  a  man's  world.  I  guess  there  are  circumstances 
when  —  this  sun  don't  shine  so  bright.  When  a  man  feels 
something  of  the  vastness  and  solitude  of  these  hills,  when 
their  mystery  sort  of  gets  hold  of  him.  I  can  get  that  — 
sure." 

"  Yep.  It's  just  about  then  when  a  bit  of  coal  makes 
all  the  diff'rence,"  Mallinsbee  smiled.  "  I  wouldn't  just 
call  coal  the  gayest  thing  in  life.  But  it's  got  its  uses. 
When  the  summer's  past,  why,  I  guess  the  stoves  of  winter 
need  banking." 

Gordon  nodded  his  understanding. 

"  But  your  daughter  is  just  crazy  on  this  life,"  he  sug- 
gested. 

The  old  man's  smile  had  passed. 

"Sure."  Then  he  sighed.  "  She's  been  my  partner 
ever  since,  sort  of  junior  partner.  But  sometime  she  '11 
be  —  going."  Then  his  slow  smile  crept  back  into  his 
eyes.  "  Then  it'll  be  winter  all  the  time.  Then  it'll  have 
to  be  coal,  an'  again  coal  — right  along." 

They  emerged  from  the  woods,  and  instinctively  Gor- 
don gazed  across  at  the  distant  ranch.  In  a  moment  he 
was  standing  stock  still  staring  across  the  valley.  And 
swiftly  there  leaped  into  his  eyes  a  dangerous  light.  Mall- 
insbee halted,  too.  He  shaded  his  eyes,  and  an  ominous 
cloud  settled  upon  his  heavy  brows. 

"  Some  one  driven  out,"  he  muttered,  examining  nar- 
rowly a  team  and  buggy  standing  at  the  veranda. 


HAZEL  MALLINSBEE'S  CAMPAIGN         131 

Gordon  emitted  a  sound  that  was  like  a  laugh,  but  had 
no  mirth  in  it. 

"  It's  a  man,  and  he's  talking  to  Miss  Mallinsbee  on  the 
veranda.  It  don't  take  me  guessing  his  identity.  That 
suit's  fixed  right  on  my  mind." 

"  David  Slosson,"  muttered  Mallinsbee,  and  he  hurried 
on  at  an  increased  pace. 

It  was  after  the  midday  dinner  which  David  Slosson  had 
shared  with  them. 

When  her  father  and  Gordon  arrived,  and  before  objec- 
tion could  be  offered  by  anybody,  Hazel  asked  her  unin- 
vited guest  to  stay  to  dinner.  David  Slosson,  without  the 
least  hesitation,  accepted  the  invitation.  In  this  manner  all 
opposition  from  her  father  was  discounted,  all  display  of 
either  man's  displeasure  avoided.  She  contrived,  with 
subtle  feminine  wit,  to  twist  the  situation  to  the  ends  she 
had  in  view.  She  disliked  the  visitor  intensely.  The  part 
she  had  decided  to  play  troubled  her,  but  she  meant  to  carry 
it  through  whatever  it  cost  her,  and  she  felt  that  an  op- 
portunity like  the  present  was  not  to  be  missed. 

Her  father  accepted  the  cue  he  was  offered,  but  Gordon 
was  obsessed  with  murderous  thoughts  which  certainly 
Hazel  read,  even  in  the  smile  with  which  he  greeted  the 
man  he  had  decided  was  to  be  his  enemy. 

To  Gordon,  David  Slosson  was  even  more  detestable  so- 
cially than  in  business.  Here  his  obvious  vulgarity  and 
commonness  had  no  opportunity  of  disguise.  He  displayed 
it  in  the  very  explanation  of  his  visit. 

"  Say,"  he  cried,  "  Snake's  Fall  is  just  the  bummest  loca- 
tion this  side  of  the  Sahara  on  a  Sunday.  I  was  lyin' 
around  the  hotel  with  a  grouch  on  I  couldn't  have  scotched 


i32  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

with  a  dozen  highballs.  I  was  hatin'  myself  that  bad  I 
got  right  up  an'  hired  a  team  and  drove  along  out  here  on 
the  off-chance  of  hitting  up  against  some  one  interestin'." 
Then  he  added,  with  a  glance  at  Hazel,  which  Gor- 
don would  willingly  have  slain  him  for :  "  Guess  I 
hit." 

This  was  on  the  veranda.  But  later,  throughout  the 
meal,  his  offenses,  in  Gordon's  eyes,  mounted  up  and  up, 
till  the  tally  nearly  reached  the  breaking  strain. 

The  man  put  himself  at  his  ease  to  his  own  satisfaction 
from  the  start.  He  addressed  all  his  talk  either  to  Hazel 
or  to  her  father,  and,  by  ignoring  Gordon  almost  entirely, 
displayed  the  fact  that  antagonism  was  mutual. 

He  criticised  everything  he  saw  about  him,  from  the 
simple  furnishing  of  the  room  in  which  they  were  dining, 
and  the  food  they  were  partaking  of,  and  its  cooking,  even 
to  the  riding-costume  Hazel  was  wearing.  He  lost  no  op- 
portunity of  comparing  unfavorably  the  life  on  the  ranch, 
the  life,  as  he  put  it,  to  which  her  father  condemned  Hazel, 
with  the  life  of  the  cities  he  knew  and  had  lived  in.  He 
passed  from  one  rudeness  to  another  under  the  firm  con- 
viction that  he  was  making  an  impression  upon  this  flower 
of  the  plains.  The  men  mattered  nothing  to  him.  As  far 
as  Mallinsbee  was  concerned,  he  felt  he  held  him  in  the  palm 
of  his  hand. 

Never  in  his  life  had  Gordon  undergone  such  an  ordeal 
as  that  meal,  which  he  had  so  looked  forward  to,  in  the 
pleasant  company  of  father  and  daughter.  Never  had  he 
known  before  the  real  meaning  of  self-restraint.  More  than 
all  it  was  made  harder  by  the  fact  that  he  felt  Hazel  was 
aware  of  something  of  his  feelings.  And  the  certainty 
that  her  father  understood  was  made  plain  by  the  amused 


HAZEL  MALLINSBEE'S  CAMPAIGN        133 

twinkle  of  his  eyes  when  they  were  turned  in  his  direc- 
tion. 

Then  came  the  denouement.  It  was  at  the  finish  of  the 
meal  that  Hazel  launched  her  bombshell.  Slosson,  in  a 
long,  coarse  disquisition  upon  ranching,  had  been  displaying 
his  most  perfect  ignorance  and  conceit.  He  finished  up 
with  the  definite  statement  that  ranching  was  done, 
"busted/'  He  knew.  He  had  seen.  There  was  nothing 
in  it.  Only  in  grain  or  mixed  farming.  He  had  had  wide 
experience  on  the  prairie,  and  you  couldn't  teach  him  a 
thing. 

"  You  must  let  me  show  you  how  fallible  is  your  opinion," 
said  Hazel,  with  more  politeness  of  language  than  intent. 
There  was  a  subtle  sparkle  in  her  eyes  which  Gordon  was 
rejoiced  to  detect.  "  Let  me  see,"  she  went  on,  "  it's  light 
till  nearly  nine  o'clock.  You  see,  I  mustn't  keep  you 
driving  on  the  prairie  after  dark  for  fear  of  losing  your- 
self." She  laughed.  "  Now,  I'll  lend  you  a  saddle  horse 
—  if  you  can  ride,"  she  went  on  demurely,  "  and  we'll  ride 
round  the  range  till  supper.  That'll  leave  you  ample  time 
to  get  back  to  Snake's  Fall  without  losing  yourself  in  the 
dark." 

Gordon  wanted  to  laugh,  but  forced  himself  to  refrain. 
Mallinsbee  audibly  chuckled.  David  Slosson  looked  sharply 
at  Hazel  with  his  narrow  black  eyes,  and  his  face  went 
scarlet.  Then  he  forced  a  boisterous  laugh. 

"  Say,  that's  a  bet,  Miss  Hazel,"  he  cried  familiarly.  "  If 
you  can  lose  me  out  on  the  prairie  you're  welcome,  and 
when  it  comes  to  the  saddle,  why,  I  guess  I  can  ride  any- 
thing with  hair  on." 

"  Better  let  him  have  my  plug,  Sunset,"  suggested  Mall- 
insbee gutturally. 


i34  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

But  Hazel's  eyes  opened  wide.     She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  wouldn't  insult  a  man  of  Mr.  Slosson's  experience  by 
offering  him  a  cushy  old  thing  like  Sunset/'  she  expostu- 
lated. Then  she  turned  to  Slosson.  "  Sunset's  a  rocking- 
horse,"  she  explained.  "  Now,  there's  a  dandy  three-year- 
old  I've  just  finished  breaking  in  the  barn.  He's  a  lifey 
boy.  Wouldn't  you  rather  have  him?  "  she  inquired  wick- 
edly. 

Slosson's  inclination  was  obvious.  He  would  have  pre- 
ferred Sunset.  But  he  couldn't  take  a  bluff  from  a  prairie 
girl,  he  told  himself.  Forthwith  he  promptly  demanded 
the  three-year-old,  and  his  demand  elicited  the  first  gen- 
uine smile  Gordon  had  been  able  to  muster  since  he  had 
become  aware  of  Slosson's  presence  on  the  ranch. 

Within  half  an  hour  one  of  the  ranch  hands  brought  the 
two  horses  to  the  veranda.  Hazel's  mare,  keen-eyed,  alert 
and  full  of  life,  was  a  picture  for  the  eye  of  a  horseman. 
The  other  horse,  shy  and  wild-eyed,  was  a  picture  also,  but 
a  picture  of  quite  a  different  type. 

Hazel  glanced  keenly  round  the  saddle  of  the  youngster. 
Then  she  approached  Slosson,  who  was  stroking  his  black 
mustache  pensively  on  the  veranda,  and  looked  up  at  him 
with  her  sweetest  smile. 

"  Shall  I  get  on  him  first?  "  she  inquired.  "  Maybe  he'll 
cat  jump  some.  He's  pretty  lifey.  I'd  hate  him  to  pitch 
you." 

But  to  his  credit  it  must  be  said  that  Slosson  possessed 
the  courage  of  his  bluff.  With  a  half-angry  gesture  he 
left  the  veranda  and  took  the  horse  from  the  grinning,  be- 
chapped  ranchman.  He  knew  now  that  he  was  being  "  jol- 
lied." 

"  Guess  you  can't  scare  me  that  way,  Miss  Hazel/'  he 


HAZEL  MALLINSBEE'S  CAMPAIGN         135 

cried,  but  there  was  no  mirth  in  the  harsh  laugh  that  ac- 
companied his  words. 

He  was  in  the  saddle  in  a  trice,  and,  almost  as  quickly, 
he  was  very  nearly  out  of  it.  That  cat  jump  had  come  on 
the  instant. 

"  Stick  to  him,"  Hazel  cried. 

And  David  Slosson  did  his  best.  He  caught  hold  of  the 
horn  of  the  saddle,  his  heels  went  into  the  horse's  sides, 
and,  in  two  seconds,  his  attitude  was  much  that  of  a  ship- 
wrecked mariner  trying  to  balance  on  a  barrel  in  a  stormy 
sea.  But  he  stuck  to  the  saddle,  although  so  nearly  wrecked, 
and  though  the  terrified  horse  gave  a  pretty  display  of  buck- 
ing, it  could  not  shed  its  unwelcome  burden.  So,  in  a  few 
moments,  it  abandoned  its  attempt. 

Then  David  Slosson  sat  up  in  triumph,  and  his  vanity 
shone  forth  upon  his  pale  face  in  a  beaming  smile. 

"  He's  some  horseman,"  rumbled  Mallinsbee,  loud 
enough  for  Slosson  to  hear  as  the  horses  went  off. 

"  Quite,"  returned  Gordon,  in  a  still  louder  voice.  "  If 
there's  one  thing  I  like  to  see  it's  a  fine  exhibition  of  horse- 
manship." 

Then  as  the  horses  started  at  a  headlong  gallop  down  to- 
wards the  valley,  the  two  men  left  behind  turned  to  each 
other  with  a  laugh. 

"  He  called  Hazel's  bluff,"  said  the  girl's  father,  with  a 
wry  thrust  of  his  chin  beard. 

"  Which  makes  it  all  the  more  pleasant  to  think  of  the 
time  when  my  turn  comes,"  said  Gordon  sharply. 

David  Slosson  was  more  than  pleased  with  himself.  He 
was  so  delighted  that,  by  a  miraculous  effort,  he  had  stuck 
to  his  horse,  that  his  vanity  completely  ran  away  with  him. 


136  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

He  would  show  this  girl  and  her  mossback  father.  They 
wanted  to  "  jolly  "  him.  Well,  let  them  keep  trying. 

Once  the  horses  had  started  he  gave  his  its  head,  and  set 
it  at  a  hard  gallop.  He  turned  in  the  saddle  with  a  chal- 
lenge to  his  companion. 

"  Let's  have  a  run  for  it,"  he  cried. 

The  girl  laughed  back  at  him. 

"  Where  you  go  I'll  follow,"  she  cried. 

Her  words  were  well  calculated.  The  light  of  vain- 
glory was  in  the  man's  eyes,  and  he  hammered  his  heels  into- 
his  horse's  flanks  till  it  was  racing  headlong.  But  Hazel's 
mare  was  at  his  shoulder,  striding  along  with  perfect  con- 
fidence and  controlled  under  hands  equally  perfect. 

"  We'll  go  along  this  valley  and  I'll  show  you  our  next 
year's  crop  of  beeves,"  cried  Hazel,  later.  "  They're  away 
yonder,  beyond  that  southern  hill,  guess  we'll  find  half  of 
them  around  there.  You  said  ranching  was  played  out,  I 
think." 

"  Right  ho,"  cried  the  man,  with  a  sneering  laugh. 
"  Guess  you'll  need  to  convince  me.  Say,  this  is  some 
hoss." 

"  Useful,"  admitted  Hazel,  watching  with  distressed  eyes 
the  man's  lumbering  seat  in  the  saddle. 

They  rode  on  for  some  moments  in  silence.  Then  Hazel 
eased  her  hand  upon  the  Lady  Jane,  and  drew  up  on  the 
youngster  like  a  shot  from  a  gun. 

"  We'll  have  to  get  across  this  stream,"  she  declared,  in- 
dicating the  six-foot  stream  along  which  they  were  riding. 
'  There's  a  cattle  bridge  lower  down  which  you'd  better 
take.  There  it  is,  away  on.  Guess  you  can  see  it  from 
here." 

"What  are  you  goin'  to  do?"  asked  the  man  sharply. 


HAZEL  MALLINSBEE'S  CAMPAIGN         137 

He  was  expecting  another  bluff,  and  was  in  the  right  mood 
to  call  it,  since  his  success  with  the  first. 

But  Hazel  had  calculated  things  to  a  nicety.  She  owed4 
this  man  a  good  deal  already  for  herself.  She  owed  him 
more  for  his  impertinent  ignoring  of  Gordon,  and  also  for 
his  disparagement  of  the  ranch  life  she  loved. 

Without  a  word  she  swung  her  mare  sharply  to  the  left. 
A  dozen  strides,  a  gazelle-like  lifting  of  the  round,  brown 
body,  and  the  Lady  Jane  was  on  the  opposite  bank  of  the 
stream. 

Before  David  Slosson  was  aware  of  her  purpose,  and  its 
accomplishment,  his  racing  horse,  still  uneducated  of  mouth,1 
had  carried  him  thirty  or  forty  yards  beyond  the  spot  where 
Hazel  had  jumped  the  stream.  At  length,  however,  he 
contrived  to  pull  the  youngster  up. 

He  smiled  as  he  saw  the  girl  on  the  other  side  of  the 
stream.  He  remembered  her  suggestion  of  the  bridge,  and 
he  shut  his  teeth  with  a  snap.  The  stream  was  narrower 
here,  so  he  had  an  advantage  which,  he  believed,  she  had 
miscalculated.  He  took  his  horse  back  some  distance  and 
galloped  at  the  stream.  Hazel  sat  watching  him  with  a 
smile,  just  beyond  where  he  should  land.  His  horse  shuffled 
its  feet  as  it  came  up  to  the  bank.  Then  it  lifted.  Slosson 
clung  to  the  horn  of  the  saddle.  Then  the  horse  landed, 
stumbled,  fell,  hurling  its  rider  headlong  in  a  perfect  quag- 
mire of  swamp. 

Slosson  gathered  himself  up,  a  mass  of  mud  and  pretty 
well  wet  through.  Hazel  was  out  of  the  saddle  in  a  mo- 
ment and  offering  him  assistance  with  every  expression  of 
concern.  She  came  to1  the  edge  of  the  swamp  and  reached 
out  her  quirt.  The  man  ignored  it.  He  ignored  her,  and 
scrambled  to  dry  ground  without  assistance. 


i38  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  I  told  you  to  take  the  bridge,"  Hazel  cried  shamelessly. 
"  You  knew  you  were  on  a  young  horse.  Oh  dear,  dear ! 
What  a  terrible  muss  you're  in.  My,  but  my  daddy  will 
be  angry  with  me  for — for  letting  this  happen." 

Her  apparently  genuine  concern  slightly  mollified  the 
man. 

"  I  thought  you  were  putting  up  another  bluff  at  me,  Miss 
Hazel,"  he  said,  still  angrily.  "  Say,  you  best  quit  bluffing 
me.  I  don't  take  'em  from  anybody." 

"  Bluff?  Why,  Mr.  Slosson,  I  couldn't  bluff  you.  I  — 
I  warned  you.  Same  as  I  did  about  the  cat- jumping  your 
horse  put  up.  Say,  this  is  just  dreadful.  We'll  have  to 
get  right  back,  and  get  you  dried  out  and  cleaned.  I  guess 
that  horse  is  too  young  for  a  —  city  man.  I  ought  to 
have  given  you  Sunset.  He'd  have  jumped  that  stream  a 
mile  —  if  you  wanted  him  to.  Say  —  there,  I'll  have  to 
round  up  your  horse,  he's  making  for  home." 

In  a  moment  Hazel  was  in  the  saddle  again,  and  the  man 
alternately  watched  her  and  scraped  the  thick  mud  off  his 
clothes. 

He  was  decidedly  angry.  His  pride  was  outraged.  But 
even  these  things  began  to  pass  as  he  noted  the  ease  and 
skill  with  which  she  rounded  up  the  runaway  horse.  She 
was  doing  all  she  could  to  help  him  out,  and  the  fact  helped 
to  further  mollify  him.  After  all,  she  had  warned  him  to 
take  the  bridge.  Perhaps  he  had  been  too  ready  to  see  a 
bluff  in  what  she  had  suggested.  After  all,  why  should 
she  attempt  to  bluff  him?  He  remembered  how  powerful 
he  was  to  affect  her  father's  interests,  and  took  comfort 
from  it. 

She  came  back  with  the  horse  and  dismounted. 

"  Say,"  she  cried,  in  dismay,  "  that  dandy  suit  of  yours. 


HAZEL  MALLINSBEE'S  CAMPAIGN         139 

It's  all  mussed  to  death.  I'm  real  sorry,  Mr.  Slosson.  My 
word,  won't  my  daddy  be  angry." 

The  man  began  to  smile  under  the  girl's  evident  distress, 
and,  his  temper  recovered,  his  peculiar  nature  promptly 
reasserted  itself. 

"  Say,  Miss  Hazel  —  oh,  hang  the  '  miss/  You  owe  me 
something  for  this,  you  do,  an'  I  don't  let  folks  owe  me 
things  long." 

"  Owe?  "     Hazel's  face  was  blankly  astonished. 

"  Sure."     The  man  eyed  her  in  an  unmistakable  fashion. 

Suddenly  the  girl  began  to  laugh.     She  pointed  at  him. 

"  Guess  we'll  need  to  get  you  home  and  cleaned  down 
some  before  we  talk  of  anything  else  I  owe.  That  surely 
is  something  I  owe  you.  Here,  you  get  up  into  the  saddle. 
I'll  hold  your  horse,  he's  a  bit  scared.  We'll  talk  of  debts 
as  we  ride  back." 

But  Slosson  was  in  no  mood  to  be  denied  just  now.  Al- 
though his  anger  had  abated,  he  felt  that  Hazel  was  not  to 
go  free  of  penalty.  He  came  to  her  as  though  about  to 
take  the  reins  from  her  hand,  but,  instead,  he  thrust  out  an 
arm  to  seize  her  by  the  waist. 

Then  it  was  that  a  curious  thing  happened.  The  young 
horse  suddenly  jumped  backwards,  dragging  the  girl  with  it 
out  of  the  man's  reach.  It  had  responded  to  the  swift  flick 
of  Hazel's  quirt,  and  left  the  man  without  understanding, 
and  his  amorous  intentions  quite  unsatisfied.  The  next 
moment  the  girl  was  in  her  own  saddle  and  laughing  down 
at  him. 

"  I  forgot,"  she  cried,  "  you'd  just  hate  to  have  your 
horse  held  by  a  —  girl.  You  best  hurry  into  the  saddle, 
or  you'll  contract  lung  trouble  in  all  that  wet." 

Slosson  cursed  softly.     But  he  knew  that  she  was  be- 


140  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

yond  his  reach  in  the  saddle.  A  tacit  admission  that,  at 
least  here,  on  the  ranch,  she  dominated  the  situation. 

"  And  I've  never  been  able  to  show  you  those  beeves,  and 
convince  you  about  ranching,"  Hazel  sighed  regretfully 
later  on,  as  they  rode  back  towards  the  ranch.  But  her 
sigh  was  sham  and  her  heart  was  full  of  laughter. 

She  was  thinking  of  the  delight  she  would  witness  in 
Gordon's  eyes,  when  he  beheld  the  much  besmirched  suit 
of  this  man,  to  whom  he  had  taken  such  a  dislike. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THINKING   HARD 

The  days  slipped  by  with  great  rapidity.  They  passed 
far  too  rapidly  for  Gordon.  The  expectation  of  Silas 
Mallinsbee  that  David  Slosson  would  eventually  listen  to 
reason,  and  accept  terms  for  himself  similar  to  those  agree- 
able to  him  on  behalf  of  the  railroad,  showed  no  sign  of 
maturing.  The  firmness  of  his  front  in  no  way  seemed  to 
affect  the  grafting  agent,  and  from  day  to  day,  although 
the  rancher  and  his  assistant  waited  patiently  for  a  definite 
denouement,  nothing  occurred  to  hold  out  promise  one  way 
or  another.  Mallinsbee  said  very  little,  but  he  watched 
events  with  wide-open  eyes,  and  not  altogether  without 
hope  that  the  man  would  be  brought  to  reason.  His  eyes 
were  on  Hazel,  smiling  appreciation,  for  Hazel  was  at  work 
using  every  art  of  which  she  was  capable  to  frustrate  any 
opposition  to  her  father's  plans,  and  to  help  on,  as  she  de- 
scribed it,  the  "good  work." 

"  I'm  a  '  sharper '  in  this,  Mr.  Van  Henslaer,"  she  de- 
clared, in  face  of  one  of  Gordon's  frequent  protests.  "  I'm 
no  better  than  David  Slosson.  And  I  —  I  want  you  to 
understand  that.  I  think  your  ideas  of  chivalry  are  just 
too  sweet,  but  I  want  you  to  look  with  my  eyes.  We're  a 
bunch  of  most  ordinary  folk  who  want  to  win  out.  If  you 
and  my  daddy  thought  by  burying  him,  dead  or  alive,  you 
could  beat  his  hand,  why,  I  guess  it  would  take  an  ex- 
press locomotive  to  stop  you.  >Well,  I'm  out  to  try  and  put 


i42  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

him  out  of  harm's  way  in  my  own  fashion.  If  I  can't  do 
it,  why,  he'll  find  I'm  not  the  dandy  prairie  flower  he's 
figuring  I  am  just  now.  That's  all.  So  meanwhile  get 
on  with  any  old  plans  you  can  find  up  your  sleeve.  By 
hook  or  crook  we've  got  to  make  good." 

By  this  expression  of  the  girl's  extraordinary  determina- 
tion doubtless  Gordon  should  have  been  silenced.  But  he 
was  not  silenced,  nor  anything  like  it.  The  truth  was  he 
was  in  love  —  wildly,  passionately,  jealously  in  love.  It 
nearly  drove  him  to  distraction  to  watch  the  way  in  which, 
almost  daily,  this  man  Slosson  drove  out  to  see  Hazel  and 
take  her  out  for  buggy  rides  or  horse  riding.  Not  only 
that,  he  and  her  father  were  practically  ignored  by  the  man. 
They  were  just  so  much  furniture  in  the  office,  and  when 
by  any  chance  the  agent  did  deign  to  notice  them  there  was 
generally  something  offensive  in  his  manner  of  address. 

Worst  of  all,  as  the  outcome  of  Hazel's  campaign  there 
were  no  signs  that  matters  were  one  whit  advanced  towards 
the  successful  completion  of  their  project,  and  the  days 
had  already  grown  into  weeks.  All  Gordon  could  do  was 
to  busy  himself  with  formulating  wild  and  impossible 
schemes  for  beating  this  creature.  And  a  hundred  and  one 
strenuous  possibilities  occurred  to  him,  all  of  which,  how- 
ever, offered  no  suggestion  of  bending  the  man,  only  of 
breaking  him.  The  sum  and  substance  of  all  his  efforts 
was  a  deadly  yearning  to  kill  David  Slosson,  kill  him  so 
dead  as  to  spoil  forever  his  chances  of  resurrection. 

This  was  much  the  position  when,  nearly  three  weeks 
later,  in  response  to  a  peremptory  note  from  Slosson  in 
the  morning,  Silas  Mallinsbee  decided  that  Gordon  should 
deal  with  him  on  a  business  visit  in  the  afternoon. 

Oh  yes,  Gordon  would  interview  him.     Gordon  would 


THINKING  HARD  143 

deal  with  him.  Gordon  would  love  it  above  all  things. 
Was  he  given  a  free  hand  ? 

But  Mallinsbee  smiled  into  the  fiery  eyes  of  the  young 
giant  and  shook  his  head,  while  Hazel  looked  on  at  the 
brewing  storm  with  inscrutable  eyes  of  amusement. 

"  There's  no  free  hand  for  anybody  in  this  thing,  Gor- 
don, boy/'  said  Mallinsbee  slowly.  . "  And  I  don't  guess 
there's  any  crematoriums  or  undertakers'  corporation 
around  Snake's  Fall.  Anyway,  Hip-Lee  wouldn't  do  a 
thing  if  you  asked  him  to  bury  a  white  man." 

"  White  man  ?  "  snorted  Gordon  furiously. 

"  Remember  you're  —  fighting  for  my  daddy  as  well  as 
yourself,  Mr.  Van  Henslaer,"  said  Hazel  earnestly. 

Gordon  sighed. 

"  I'll  remember,"  he  said.  And  his  two  friends  knew 
that  the  matter  was  safe  in  his  hands. 

Left  alone  in  his  office,  Gordon  endured  an  unpleasant 
hour  after  his  dinner.  It  was  not  the  thoughts  of  his  com- 
ing interview  that  disturbed  him.  It  was  Hazel.  It  was 
of  her  he  was  always  thinking,  whei)  not  actually  engaged 
upon  any  duty.  Every  day  made  his  thoughts  harder  to 
bear. 

For  awhile  he  sat  before  his  desk,  leaning  back  in  his 
chair,  gazing  blankly  at  the  wooden  wall  opposite  him.  She 
was  always  the  same  to  him;  his  worst  fits  of  temper  seemed 
to  make  no  difference.  She  only  smiled  and  humored  or 
chided  him  as  though  he  were  some  big,  wayward  child. 
Then  the  next  moment  she  would  ride  off  with  this  vermin 
Slosson,  full  of  merry  sallies  and  smiling  graciousness, 
whom,  he  knew,  if  she  had  any  right  feeling  at  all,  she 
must  loathe  and  despise.  Well,  if  she  did  loathe  him,  she 
had  a  curious  way  of  showing  it. 


i44  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

He  thrust  his  chair  back  with  an  angry  movement,  and 
walked  off  into  the  bedroom  opening  out  of  the  office.  He 
looked  in.  The  neatness  of  it,  the  scent  of  fresh  air  pour- 
ing in  through  its  open  window,  meant  nothing  to  him.  He 
saw  none  of  the  work  of  the  guiding  hand  which,  in  pre- 
paring it,  had  provided  for  his  comfort.  Hip-Lee  kept  it 
clean  and  made  his  bed,  the  same  as  he  cooked  his  food. 
It  did  not  occur  to  Gordon  to  whom  Hip-Lee  was  respon- 
sible. 

There  were  pictures  on  the  walls,  and  it  never  occurred 
to  Gordon  that  these  had  been  taken  from  Hazel's  own  bed- 
room at  the  ranch  —  for  his  enjoyment.  Nor  was  he  aware 
that  the  shaving-glass  and  table  had  been  specially  pur- 
chased by  Hazel  for  his  comfort.  There  were  a  dozen  and 
one  little  comforts,  none  of  which  he  realized  had  been 
added  to  the  room  since  it  had  been  set  aside  for  his 
use. 

He  flung  himself  upon  the  bed,  all  regardless  of  the  lace 
pillow-sham  which  had  once  had  a  place  on  Hazel's  own 
bed.  He  was  in  that  frame  of  mind  when  he  only  wanted 
to  get  through  the  hours  before  Hazel's  sunny  presence 
again  returned  to  the  office.  He  was  angry  with  her.  He 
was  ready  to  think,  did  think,  the  hardest  thoughts  of  her; 
but  he  longed,  stupidly,  foolishly  longed  for  her  return, 
although  he  knew  that,  with  her  return,  fresh  evidence  of 
Slosson's  attentions  to  her  and  of  her  acceptance  of  them 
would  be  forthcoming. 

He  was  only  allowed  another  ten  minutes  in  which  to  en- 
joy his  moody  misery.  At  the  end  of  that  time  he  heard 
the  rattle  of  wheels  beyond  the  veranda,  and  sprang  from 
his  couch  with  the  battle  light  shining  in  his  eyes. 

But  disappointment  awaited  him.     It  was  not  Slosson 


THINKING  HARD  145 

who  presented  himself.  It  was  the  altogether  cheerful  face 
of  Peter  McSwain  which  appeared  at  the  doorway. 

"  Say/'  he  cried.  Then  he  paused  and  glanced  rapidly 
round  the  room.  "Ain't  Mallinsbee  around?"  he  de- 
manded eagerly. 

Gordon  shook  his  head. 

"Business?"  he  inquired.  "If  it's  business  I'm  right 
here  to  attend  to  it." 

Peter  hesitated. 

"  I  s'pose  you'd  call  it  business,"  he  said,  after  a  consid- 
ering pause,  during  which  he  took  careful  stock  of  Mallins- 
bee's  representative.  Then  he  went  on,  with  a  suggestion  of 
doubt  in  his  tone,  "  You  deal  with  his  business  —  confiden- 
tial?" 

Gordon  smiled  in  spite  of  his  recent  bitterness.  He 
moved  over  to  his  desk  and  sat  down,  at  the  same  time  in- 
dicating the  chair  opposite  him.  As  soon  as  McSwain  had 
taken  his  seat  Gordon  leaned  forward,  gazing  straight 
into  the  man's  always  hot-looking  face. 

"  See  here,  Mr.  McSwain,  we're  at  a  deadlock  for  the 
moment,  as  maybe  you  know.  Later  it'll  straighten  itself 
out.  I  can  speak  plainly  to  you,  because  you're  a  friend 
of  Mr.  Mallinsbee,  and  you're  interested  with  us  in  this 
deal.  I'm  here  to  represent  Mr.  Mallinsbee  in  everything, 
even  to  dealing  with  the  railroad  people,  so  anything  you've 
got  to  say,  why,  just  go  ahead.  For  practical  purposes 
you  are  talking  to  Mr.  Mallinsbee." 

The  disturbed  Peter  sighed  his  relief. 

"  I'm  glad,  because  what  I've  got  to  say  won't  keep.  If 
you  folks  don't  get  a  cinch  on  that  dago-lookin'  Slosson 
feller  the  game's  up.  He's  askin'  options  up  at  Snake's. 
He's  not  buyin'  the  land  yet,  just  lookin'  for  options. 


146  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

Maybe  you  know  I  got  two  plots  on  Main  Street,  besides 
my  hotel.  Well,  he's  made  a  bid  for  options  on  'em  for 
two  months.  He  says  other  folks  are  goin'  to  accept  his 
offer.  There's  Mike  Callahan,  the  livery  man.  Slosson's 
been  gettin'  at  him,  too.  Mike  come  along  and  told  me, 
and  asked  what  he  should  do.  I  guessed  I'd  run  out  and 
see  Mallinsbee.  If  ther'  ain't  anything  doin'  here  at  Buf- 
falo, why,  it's  up  to  us  to  accept." 

The  man  mopped  his  forehead  with  a  gorgeous  handker- 
chief. His  eyes  were  troubled  and  anxious.  He  felt  he 
would  rather  have  dealt  with  Mallinsbee.  This  youngster 
didn't  look  smart  enough  to  deal  with  the  situation. 

Gordon  was  tapping  the  desk  with  a  penholder.  He  was 
thinking  very  hard.  He  knew  that  the  definite  movement 
had  come  at  last,  and  that  it  was  adverse  to  their  inter- 
ests. This  was  the  reply  to  Mallinsbee's  resolve.  For  the 
moment  the  matter  seemed  overwhelming.  There  seemed 
to  be  no  counter-move  for  them  to  make.  Then  quite  sud- 
denly he  detected  a  sign  of  weakness  in  it. 

"  Say,"  he  demanded  at  last,  "  why  does  the  man  want 
options  ?  I  take  it  options  are  to  safeguard  him  in  case  he 
wants  to  buy.  This  thing  looks  better  than  I  thought. 
He's  guessing  he  may  quarrel  with  us.  He's  thinking 
maybe  we  won't  come  to  terms.  He's  worrying  that  the 
news  of  that  will  get  around,  and  that,  in  consequence,  up 
will  go  prices  in  Snake's.  That'll  mean  the  railroad  '11 
have  to  pay  through  the  nose,  and  he'll  get  into  trouble  if 
they  have  to  buy  up  there.  You  see,  the  bedrock  of  this 
layout  is  —  this  place  has  to  boom  anyway,  and  they've  got 
to  get  in  either  here  or  at  Snake's." 

Peter  rubbed  his  hands.  His  opinion  of  Gordon  began 
to  undergo  revision. 


THINKING  HARD  147 

"Then  what  are  we  to  do?"  The  anxiety  in  his  eyes 
was  lessening. 

Gordon  sprang  from  his  seat,  and  brought  one  hand  down 
on  his  desk  with  a  slam. 

"Do?  Why,  let  him  go  to  hell.  Refuse  him  any  op- 
tion," he  cried  fiercely.  "  Here,  I'll  tell  you  what  you  do. 
And  do  it  right  away.  How  do  you  stand  with  the  folks 
up  there?" 

"  Good.  They  mostly  listen  when  I  talk,"  said  Peter, 
with  some  pride. 

"Fine!"  cried  Gordon.  "We'll  roast  him  some.  See 
here,  I  know  you're  holding  with  us.  I  know  Mike  is,  and 
several  others.  Your  interests  are  far  and  away  bigger 
here  than  in  Snake's.  So  you'll  get  busy  right  away. 
You'll  get  all  the  boys  together  who've  got  interests  here. 
Tell  'em  we've  fallen  out  over  the  railroad  deal  with  Slos- 
son.  Tell  'em  to  get  the  town  together,  and  then  let  'em 
explain  about  this  rupture.  I'll  guarantee  the  rupture's 
complete.  Make  'em  refuse  all  options  and  boost  their 
prices  for  definite  sale,  and  threaten  to  raise  'em  sky-high 
unless  the  railroad  make  a  quick  deal.  Put  a  fancy  figure 
on  your  land  at  which  he  daren't  buy.  You  get  that  ?  Now 
I'll  show  you  how  we'll  stand.  He's  got  to  come  in  on  this 
place  then.  He'll  have  to  buy  at  our  price,  because  —  the 
railroad  must  get  in.  You  must  play  the  town  folks  who've 
got  land  there,  but  none  here,  to  force  the  prices  up  on  the 
strength  of  our  quarrel  with  the  railroad,  and  I'll  guar- 
antee that  quarrel's  complete  this  afternoon.  Well?" 

The  last  vestige  of  Peter's  worry  had  disappeared.  His 
eyes  shone  admiringly  as  he  gazed  at  the  smiling  face  of 
the  man  who  had  conceived  so  unscrupulous  a  scheme.  He 
nodded. 


148  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  The  railroad's  got  to  get  in,"  he  agreed.  "If  they  can't 
get  in  here  they've  got  to  there.  Offer  him  boom  prices 
there,  and  if  he  closes  —  which  he  dwen't  —  we  make  our 
bits,  anyway.  If  he  don't,  then  he's  got  to  buy  here  on 
your  terms,  and  —  the  depot  comes  here,  and  the  boom  with 
it.  Say,  it's  bright.  An'  you'll  guarantee  that  scrap  up?  " 

"  Sure/' 

Peter  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"That's  Mallinsbee's  — word?" 

"  Absolutely." 

The  man's  hot  face  became  suddenly  hotter,  and  his  eyes 
shone. 

"I'll  get  right  back  and  we'll  hold  a  meetin'  to-night. 
Say,  we've  got  to  fool  those  who  ain't  got  interests  here  - 
they  ain't  more  than  fifty  per  cent. —  and  then  we'll  send 
prices  sky-high.  You  can  bet  on  it,  Mr.  Van  Henslaer, 
sir.  All  it's  up  to  you  to  do  is  to  turn  him  down  and  drive 
him  our  way.  We'll  drive  him  back  to  you.  It's  elegant." 

Gordon  gave  a  final  promise  as  they  shook  hands  when 
Peter  had  mounted  his  buggy.  Then  the  hotel  proprietor 
drove  off  in  high  glee. 

Gordon  went  back  to  his  office  without  any  sensation  of 
satisfaction.  He  had  committed  Mallinsbee  to  a  definite 
policy  that  might  easily  fall  foul  of  that  individual's  ideas. 
But  he  had  committed  him,  and  meant  to  carry  the  thing 
through  against  all  opposition. 

The  cue  had  been  too  obvious  for  him  to  neglect.  It 
was  Slosson  who  had  made  a  false  move.  He  was  tem- 
porizing, instead  of  acting  on  a  fighting  policy,  and  it  was 
pretty  obvious  to  him  that  his  temporizing  was  due  to  his 
growing  regard  for  Hazel.  The  man  was  mad  to  ask  for 
options.  He  was  a  fool  —  a  perfect  idiot.  No,  the  oppor- 


THINKING  HARD  149 

tunity  had  been  too  good  to  miss.  If  Slosson  had  shown 
weakness,  he  did  not  intend  to  do  so.  Then,  as  he  sat 
down  and  further  probed  the  situation,  a  real  genuine  sen- 
sation of  satisfaction  did  occur.  There  would  no  longer 
be  any  necessity  for  Hazel  to  attempt  to  play  the  man. 

All  in  a  moment  he  saw  the  whole  thing,  and  a  wild 
delight  and  excitement  surged  through  him.  He  was  in  the 
heart  of  a  youngster's  paradise  once  more.  The  sun 
streaming  in  through  the  window  was  one  great  blaze  of 
heavenly  light.  The  world  was  fair  and  joyous,  and,  for 
himself,  he  was  living  in  a  palace  of  delight. 

It  was  in  such  mood  that  he  heard  the  approach  of  David 
Slosson. 

The  agent  entered  the  office  with  all  the  arrogance  of  a 
detestable  victor.  His  first  words  set  Gordon's  spine  bris- 
tling, although  his  welcoming  smile  was  amiability  itself. 

Slosson  glanced  round  the  room,  and,  discovering  only 
Gordon,  flung  himself  into  Mallinsbee's  chair  and  delivered 
himself  of  his  orders. 

"  Say,  you  best  have  your  darned  Chinaman  take  my 
horse  around  back  an'  feed  him  hay.  Where's  Mallins- 
bee?" 

Gordon  assumed  an  almost  deferential  air,  but  ignored 
the  order  for  the  horse's  care. 

"  I'm  sorry,  but  Mr.  Mallinsbee  won't  be  around  this  aft- 
ernoon. He's  going  up  in  the  hills  on  a  shoot,"  he  lied 
shamelessly.  "  Maybe  for  a  week  or  two.  Maybe  only 
days." 

"What  in  thunder?  Say,  was  he  here  this  morning? 
I  sent  word  I  was  coming  along." 

Slosson's  black  eyes  had  narrowed  angrily,  and  his  pasty 
features  were  shaded  with  the  pink  of  rising  temper. 


1 5o  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

Gordon's  eyes  expressed  simple  surprise. 

"  Sure,  he  was  here.  Your  note  got  along  'bout  eleven. 
He  guessed  he  couldn't  stop  around  for  you.  You  see,  a 
few  caribou  have  been  seen  within  twenty  miles  of  the  ranch. 
They  don't  wait  around  for  business  appointments." 

Slosson  brought  one  fist  down  on  the  arm  of  his  chair, 
and  in  a  burst  of  anger  almost  shouted  at  the  deferential 
Gordon. 

"Caribou?"  he  exploded.  "What  in  thunder  is  he 
chasin'  caribou  for  when  there's  things  to  be  settled  once 
and  for  all  that  won't  keep?  Caribou?  The  man's  crazy. 
Does  he  think  I'm  going  to  wait  around  while  he  gets  chasin' 
—  caribou  ?  " 

Gordon  maintained  a  perfect  equanimity,  but  he  wanted 
to  laugh  badly.  He  felt  he  could  afford  to  laugh. 

"  There's  no  need  to  '  wait  around,'  "  he  deferred  blandly. 
"  I  am  here  to  act  for  Mr.  Mallinsbee  —  absolutely.  The 
entire  affairs  of  the  township  are  in  my  hands,  and  I  have 
his  definite  instructions  how  to  proceed.  If  you  have  any 
proposition  to  make  I  am  prepared  to  deal  with  it." 

For  all  his  apparent  deference  a  note  had  crept  into  Gor- 
don's tone  which  caught  the  suspicious  ears  of  the  railroad 
agent.  He  peered  sharply  into  the  blue  eyes  of  the  man 
across  the  desk. 

'  You  have  absolute  power  to  deal  in  Mallinsbee's  inter- 
est?" he  questioned  harshly. 

"  In  Mr.  Mallinsbee's  interests,"  assented  Gordon. 

"Wai,  what's  his  proposition?"  The  man's  mustached 
upper  lip  was  slightly  lifted  and  he  showed  his  teeth. 

"  Precisely  what  it  was  when  he  first  explained  it  to  you." 

The  deference  had  gone  out  of  Gordon's  voice.  Then, 
after  the  briefest  of  smiling  pauses,  he  added  — 


THINKING  HARD  151 

"  That  is  in  so  far  as  the  railroad  is  concerned.  For 
your  own  personal  consideration  his  offer  of  sites  to  you 
remains  the  same  as  regards  price,  but  the  selection  of 
position  will  be  made  by  —  us." 

Gordon  was  enjoying  himself  enormously.  He  had 
taken  the  law  into  his  own  hands,  and  intended  to  put 
things  through  in  his  own  way.  He  expected  an  outburst, 
but  none  was  forthcoming.  David  Slosson  was  beginning 
to  understand.  He  was  taking  the  measure  of  this  man. 
He  was  taking  other  measures  —  the  measure  of  the  whole 
situation.  Of  a  sudden  he  realized  that  he  was  being  told, 
in  his  own  pet  phraseology,  to  —  go  to  hell.  He  had  con- 
signed many  people  in  that  direction  during  his  life,  but 
somehow  his  own  consignment  was  quite  a  different  matter, 
especially  through  the  present  channel,. 

He  pulled  himself  up  in  his  chair  and  squared  his  shoul- 
ders truculently. 

"  I  guess  Mallinsbee  knows  what  this  means  —  for  him?  " 
he  inquired  sharply,  but  coldly. 

"  I  fancy  Mr.  Mallinsbee  does." 

"Now,  see  here,  Mister  —  I  ferget  your  name,"  Slosson 
cried,  with  sudden  heat.  "  I'm  not  the  man  to  be  played 
around  with.  If  this  is  your  Mister  Mallinsbee's  final  offer, 
it  just  means  that  the  railroad  can't  do  business  with  him. 
Which  means  also  that  his  whole  wild-cat  land  scheme  falls 
flat,  and  is  so  much  waste  ground,  only  fit  for  grazing  his 
rotten  cattle  on.  I'm  not  here  to  mince  words " 

"  No,"  concurred  Gordon  in  a  steady,  cold  tone. 

"  I  said  I'm  not  here  to  mince  words.  If  I  can't  get  my 
original  terms  there's  nothing  doing,  and  I'll  even  promise, 
seeing  we're  alone,  to  get  right  out  of  my  way  to  sew  up 
this  concern,  lock,  stock  and  barrel." 


152  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  That  seems  to  be  the  obvious  thing  to  do  from  your 
point  of  view  —  if  you  can/'  said  Gordon  calmly.  "  See- 
ing that  Mr.  Mallinsbee  is  nearly  as  rich  as  a  railroad  cor- 
poration, there  may  be  difficulties.  Anyway,  threats  aren't 
business  talk,  and  generally  display  weakness.  So,  if 
you've  no  business  to  talk,  if  you  don't  feel  like  coming  in 
on  our  terms  —  why,  that's  the  door,  and  I  guess  your  horse 
is  still  waiting  for  that  hay  you  seemed  to  think  just  now 
he  needed." 

Gordon  picked  up  a  pen  and  proceeded  deliberately  to 
start  writing  a  letter.  He  felt  that  David  Slosson  had 
something  to  digest,  and  needed  time.  All  he  feared  now 
was  that  Mallinsbee  or  Hazel  might  come  in  before  he 
rid  the  place  of  this  precious  representative  of  the  railroad. 

After  a  few  moments  he  glanced  up  from  his  letter. 

"  Still  here?"  he  remarked,  with  upraised  brows. 

In  a  moment  Slosson  started  from  the  brown  study  into 
which  he  had  fallen  and  leaped  to  his  feet.  His  narrow 
black  eyes  were  blazing.  His  pasty  features  were  ghastly 
with  fury,  and  Gordon,  gazing  up  at  him,  found  himself 
wondering  how  it  came  that  the  hot  summer  sun  of  the 
prairie  was  powerless  to  change  its  hue. 

The  agent  thrust  out  one  clenched  fist  threateningly,  and 
fairly  shouted  at  the  man  behind  the  desk  — 

"  I'll  make  you  all  pay  for  this  —  Mallinsbee  as  well  as 
you.  You  think  you  can  play  me  —  me!  You  think  you 
can  play  the  railroad  I  represent !  I'll  show  you  just  what 
your  bluff  is  worth.  You,  a  miserable  crowd  of  land  pi- 
rates !  I  tell  you  your  land  isn't  worth  grazing  price  with- 
out our  depot.  And  I  promise  you  I'll  break  the  whole 
concern " 

"  Meanwhile,"  said  Gordon,  deliberately  rising  from  his 


THINKING  HARD  153 

seat  and  moving  round  his  desk,  "try  that  doorway, 
before  I  —  break  you.  There  it  is."  He  pointed. 
"Hustle!" 

There  comes  a  moment  when  the  wildest  temper  reaches 
its  limits.  And  even  the  most  furious  will  pause  at  the 
brick  wall  of  possible  physical  violence.  David  Slosson 
had  spat  out  all  his  venom,  or  as  much  of  it  as  seemed 
politic.  The  threatening  attitude  of  Gordon,  his  monumen- 
tal size  and  obvious  strength,  his  cold  determination,  all 
convinced  him  that  further  debate  was  useless.  So  he 
drew  back  at  the  "  brick  wall "  and  negotiated  the  doorway 
as  quickly  as  possible. 

Two  minutes  later  Gordon  sighed  in  a  great  relief,  and 
passed  a  hand  across  his  perspiring  forehead.  Slosson  had 
passed  out  of  view  as  Mallinsbee,  on  the  back  of  the  great 
Sunset,  appeared  on  the  horizon. 

"  That  was  a  close  call/'  he  muttered.  "  Two  minutes 
more  and  the  old  man  might  have  spoiled  the  whole 
scheme." 

Silas  Mallinsbee's  personality  seemed  to  crowd  the  little 
office  when,  five  minutes  later,  he  entered  to  find  Gordon 
busy  at  his  desk  writing  a  letter  home  to  his  mother. 

Gordon  displayed  no  sign  of  his  recent  encounter  when 
he  looked  up.  His  ingenuous  face  was  smiling,  and  his 
blue  eyes  were  full  of  an  obvious  satisfaction.  Mallinsbee 
read  the  signs  and  rumbled  out  an  inquiry. 

"  Slosson  been  around  ?  " 

Gordon  nodded. 

"  Sure/' 

"Fixed  anything?" 

"Quite  a  — lot." 

"You're  lookin'  kind  of  —  happy?" 


1S4  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  Guess  that's  more  than  —  Slosson  was." 

Mallinsbee's  eyes  became  quite  serious. 

"  I  told  Hazel  just  now  I'd  get  along  back.  You  see, 
I  kind  of  remembered  you  just  weren't  sweet  on  Slosson, 
and  guessed  after  all  I'd  best  be  around  when  he  came. 
Hazel  thought  it  might  be  as  well,  too.  Specially  as  she 
didn't  want  to  sit  around  and  find  no  Slosson  turn  up. 
So " 

Gordon  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant.  All  his  smile  had 
vanished.  A  look  of  real  alarm  had  taken  its  place. 

"  She  was  waiting  for  that  skunk  ?  Where  ?  "  he  de- 
manded in  a  tone  that  suddenly  filled  the  father  with  gen- 
uine alarm. 

"  He  was  to  go  on  to  the  coalpits  after  he  was  through 
here,  and  she  was  to  meet  him  there  an'  ride  over  to  the 
young  horse  corrals  where  they  been  breaking.  She  was 
to  let  him  see  the  boys  doin'  a  bit  o'  broncho  bustin'. 
What's " 

"The    coalpits?     That's   the   way   he   took.     Say,    for 

God's    sake    stay    right   here  —  and    let   me    use    Sunset. 
j » 

But  Gordon  did  not  wait  to  finish  what  he  had  to  say. 
He  was  out  of  the  house  and  had  leaped  into  the  saddle  be- 
fore Mallins,bee  could  attempt  to  protest.  The  next  mo- 
ment he  was  galloping  straight  across  country  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  Bude  and  Sideley's  Coal  Company's  workings. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

SLOSSON   SNATCHES   AT   OPPORTUNITY 

Gordon  had  taken  David  Slosson's  measure  perfectly, 
notwithstanding  his  own  comparative  inexperience  of  the 
world.  Apart  from  the  agent's  business  methods,  he  had 
seen  through  the  man  himself  with  regard  to  Hazel. 
Hence,  now  his  most  serious  alarm.  The  memory  of  those 
lascivious  eyes  gazing  after  Hazel  in  the  Main  Street  of 
Snake's  Fall,  on  his  first  day  in  the  town,  had  never  left 
him,  and  though  he  had  listened  to  Hazel's  positive  assur- 
ance of  her  own  safety  in  dealing  with  the  man  a  subtle 
fear  had  continually  haunted  him.  This  was  quite  apart 
from  his  own  jealous  feelings.  It  was  utterly  unpreju- 
diced by  them.  He  knew  that  sooner  or  later,  unless  a 
miracle  happened,  Hazel  would  become  the  victim  of  insult. 
Deep  down  in  his  heart,  somewhere,  far  underneath  his 
passionate  jealousy,  he  knew  that  Hazel  was  only  encourag- 
ing Slosson  that  she  might  help  on  their  common  ends,  but 
he  had  always  doubted  her  cleverness  to  carry  such  a  mat- 
ter through  successfully.  To  his  mind  there  could  only  be 
one  end  to  it  all,  and  that  end  —  insult. 

Now  the  thing  was  almost  a  certainty.  With  Slosson 
in  his  present  mood  anything  might  happen.  So  he  pressed 

Sunset  to  a  rattling  gallop.  If  Slosson  insulted  her ? 

But  he  was  not  in  the  mood  to  think  —  only  to  act. 

That  his  fears  were  well  enough  founded  was  pretty  ob- 
vious. David  Slosson,  as  he  hurried  away  from  Mallins- 


iS6  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

bee's  office,  knew  that  he  had  played  the  game  of  his  own 
advantage  and  —  lost.  This  sort  of  thing  had  not  often 
happened,  and  on  those  rare  occasions  on  which  it  had  hap- 
pened he  had  so  contrived  that  those  who  had  caused  him 
a  reverse  paid  fairly  dearly  in  the  end.  He  was  one  of 
those  men  who  believed  that  if  a  man  only  squeezed  hard 
enough  blood  could  be  contrived  from  a  stone.  Against 
every  successful  offensive  of  the  enemy  there  was  nearly  al- 
ways a  way  of  "  getting  back." 

That  he  could  "  get  back  "  on  the  commercial  side  of  the 
present  affair  he  possessed  not  the  smallest  doubt.  He 
would  "  recommend  "  to  his  company  that  the  present  depot 
at  Snake's  Fall,  with  certain  enlargements,  and  the  private 
line  to  be  built  by  the  Bude  and  Sideley  Coal  people,  were 
all  that  was  sufficient  to  serve  the  public,  and,  through  his 
judicious  purchase  of  sites  in  the  old  township,  a  far  more 
profitable  enterprise  for  them  than  the  new  township  could 
offer.  Personally,  he  would  have  to  sacrifice  his  own  in- 
terests. But  since  Mallinsbee  and  his  cub  of  an  office  boy 
would  be  badly  "  stung,"  the  matter  would  not  be  without 
satisfaction  to  his  revengeful  nature.  Then  there  was  that 
other  matter  —  and  he  moistened  his  thin  lips  as  he  con- 
templated it. 

In  spite  of  all  Gordon's  lack  of  faith  in  Hazel's  efforts, 
they  had  not  been  without  effect.  Slosson  had  been  flat- 
tered. His  vanity  had  seen  conquest  in  Hazel's  readiness 
to  accept  his  company.  It  had  been  obvious  to  him  from 
the  first  that  the  manner  in  which  he  had  displayed  his 
"  nerve  "  before  her  at  the  ranch  pleased  her  more  than  a 
little.  After  all,  she  was  a  mere  country  girl  —  a  "  rube  " 
girl. 

Nor  was  it  likely  that  she  would  be  difficult  now.     She 


SLOSSON  SNATCHES  AT  OPPORTUNITY      157 

was  pretty,  pretty  as  a  picture.  Her  figure  appealed  to 
his  sensual  nature.  She  didn't  know  a  thing  —  outside  her 
ranch.  Well,  he  could  teach  her.  Especially  now.  Oh, 
yes,  it  was  all  very  opportune.  He  would  teach  her  all  he 
knew.  He  laughed.  He  would  teach  her  for  —  her 
father's  sake.  And  —  yes,  for  the  sake  of  that  young  cub 
of  a  man  that  had  ordered  him  out  of  the  office. 

What  was  his  name  — "  Van  Henslaer  "  ?  Yes,  that  was 
it.  A  "  square-head,"  he  supposed.  The  country  was  full 
of  these  American-speaking  German  "  square-heads." 
Then  quite  suddenly  he  began  to  laugh.  For  the  first  time 
since  he  came  to  Snake's  Fall  the  thought  occurred  to  him 
that  possibly  this  fellow  was  in  love  with  Hazel  himself. 
He  had  been  so  busy  prosecuting  his  own  attentions  to  her 
himself  that  he  had  never  considered  the  possibility  of  an- 
other man  being  in  the  running.  The  thought  inspired  an 
even  more  pleasant  sensation.  It  threw  a  new  light  upon 
Van  Henslaer's  attitude.  Well,  there  was  not  much  doubt 
as  to  who  was  the  favored  man.  The  fellow's  very  atti- 
tude suggested  his  failure. 

Slosson  felt  he  was  going  to  reap  better  than  had  seemed 
at  first.  He  would  ruin  Mallinsbee's  schemes  and  satisfy 
his  company  at  a  slight  personal  loss  to  himself.  He  would 
complete  his  triumph  over  the  individual  in  Mallinsbee's 
office.  First  of  all,  through  Mallinsbee's  failure  in  the 
land  scheme,  by  robbing  him  of  a  position,  and  secondly, 
through  robbing  him  of  all  chance  of  success  with  the  girl. 
It  was  not  too  bad  a  retort.  He  would  have  made  it 
harsher  if  he  could,  but,  for  a  start,  it  would  have  to  do. 
Later,  of  course,  since  he  would  see  a  great  deal  of  Snake's 
Fall  and  his  power  in  the  place  would  increase,  he  would  ex- 
tend operations  against  his  enemies. 


158  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

Hazel  must  be  his  —  his  entirely.  To  that  he  had  made 
up  his  mind.  She  was  much  too  desirable  to  be  "  running 
loose,"  he  told  himself.  Marriage  was  out  of  the  question, 
unless  he  wished  to  commit  bigamy;  a  pleasantry  at  which 
he  laughed  silently.  Anyway,  if  it  were  possible,  it  would 
not  have  suited  him.  Marriage  would  have  robbed  him 
of  the  right  to  break  up  her  father's  land  scheme.  No, 

marriage  was Well,  he  was  married  —  to  his  lasting 

regret. 

Hazel  was  very  attractive ;  very.  He  could  quite  under- 
stand a  man  making  a  fool  of  himself  over  her.  He  had 
once  made  a  fool  of  himself,  and  in  consequence  marriage 
was  very  cheap  from  his  point  of  view.  He  regarded 
women  now  as  lawful  prey.  And  apart  from  Hazel's  at- 
tractiveness, which  was  very,  very  seductive,  it  would  be  a 
pretty  piece  of  getting  back  on  her  father  and  that  other. 
He  laughed  again.  It  was  quaint.  The  prettier  a  woman 
the  greater  the  fool  she  was. 

So  he  rode  on  towards  the  coalpits. 

His  narrow  eyes  were  alert,  watching  the  horizon  on 
every  side.  He  was  looking  for  that  fawn-colored  figure 
on  its  brown  mare.  His  thoughts  were  full  of  it  now. 
The  rest  was  all  thrust  into  the  background,  leaving  full 
play  to  his  desires,  which  were  fast  overwhelming  all  cau- 
tion. It  would  have  been  impossible  to  overwhelm  his 
sense  of  decency. 

Suddenly  it  occurred  to  him  that  it  was  ridiculous  that 
he  should  go  on  to  the  coalpits.  His  eagerness  was  sway- 
ing him.  His  mad  longing  for  the  girl  swept  everything 
before  it.  Why  should  he  not  cut  across  to  the  westward 
and  intercept  her  on  the  way  from  the  ranch?  She  must 
come  that  way,  and  —  he  could  not  possibly  miss  her. 


SLOSSON  SNATCHES  AT  OPPORTUNITY      159 

He  looked  at  his  watch.  It  wanted  half  an  hour  to  their 
appointment.  Why,  he  would  be  at  the  pits  in  ten  minutes, 
which  would  leave  him  a  full  twenty  minutes  of  waiting. 

In  his  mood  of  the  moment  it  was  a  thought  quite  im- 
possible. So  he  swung  his  horse  westwards,  with  his  eyes 
even  more  watchful  for  the  approach  of  the  figure  he  was 
seeking. 

Perhaps  Hazel  was  late.  Perhaps  Slosson  was  traveling 
faster  than  he  knew.  Anyway,  he  was  already  in  the 
shadow  of  the  bigger  hills  when  he  discovered  the  speeding 
brown  mare  with  its  dainty  burden.  Hazel  discovered  him 
almost  at  the  same  instant,  and  reined  in  her  horse  to  let 
him  come  up.  In  a  moment  or  two  his  roughly  familiar 
greeting  jarred  her  ears. 

"  Hello !  "  he  cried.  "  There  never  was  a  woman  who 
could  keep  time  worth  a  cent.  I  guessed  you'd  strayed 
some,  so  I  got  along  quick." 

He  had  reined  up  facing  her  on  the  cattle  track,  and  his 
sensual  eyes  covertly  surveyed  her  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Why,  you  haven't  been  near  the  pits,"  protested  Hazel, 
avoiding  his  gaze.  "  You've  come  across  country.  Any- 
way, it's  not  time  yet."  She  pulled  off  a  gauntlet  and  held 
up  her  wrist  for  him  to  look  at  the  watch  upon  it. 

He  reached  out,  caught  her  hand,  and  drew  it  towards 
him  on  the  pretense  of  looking  at  the  watch.  His  eyes 
were  shining  dangerously  as  he  did  so.  Just  for  an  instant 
Hazel  was  taken  unawares.  Then  her  pretty  eyes  sud- 
denly lost  their  smile,  and  she  drew  her  hand  sharply  away. 

Slosson  looked  up. 

"  Your  watch  is  wrong,"  he  declared,  with  a  grin  intended 
to  be  facetious,  but  which  scarcely  disguised  the  feelings 
lying  behind  it. 


160  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

Hazel  was  smiling  again.     She  shook  her  head. 

"  It  isn't,"  she  denied.  "  But  come  on,  or  we'll  miss  the 
fun.  I've  got  a  youngster  there  in  the  corrals,  never  been 
saddled  or  man-handled.  I'm  going  to  ride  him  for  your 
edification  when  the  boys  are  through  with  the  others.  It's 
a  mark  of  my  favor  which  you  must  duly  appreciate." 

She  led  the  way  back  towards  the  hills  at  a  steady  canter. 

"  Say,  you've  got  nerve,"  cried  Slosson,  in  genuine  ad- 
miration. "  Never  been  saddled  ?  " 

"  Or  man-handled,"  returned  Hazel,  determined  he 
should  lose  nothing  of  her  contemplated  adventure.  "  He 
was  rounded  up  this  morning  at  my  orders  out  of  a  bunch 
of  three-year-old  prairie-bred  colts.  You'll  surely  see  some 
real  bucking  —  not  cat-jumping,"  she  added  mischievously. 

"  Say,  you  can't  forget  that  play,"  cried  the  man,  with 
some  pride.  "  I'd  have  got  on  that  hoss  if  he'd  bucked  to 
kingdom-come.  I  don't  take  any  bluff  from  a  girl." 

"I  s'pose  girls  aren't  of  much  account  with  you? 
They're  just  silly  things  with  no  sense  or  —  or  anything. 
Some  men  are  like  that." 

A  warm  glow  swept  through  the  man's  veins. 

"  I  allow  it  just  depends  on  the  girl." 

"  Maybe  you  don't  reckon  I've  got  sense  ?  " 

Slosson  gazed  at  her  with  a  meaning  smile. 

"  I've  seen  signs,"  he  observed  playfully. 

"  Thanks.  You've  surely  got  keen  eyes.  Black  eyes 
are  mostly  keen.  Say,  I  wonder  how  much  sense  they 
reckon  they've  seen  in  me?" 

"  Well,  I  should  say  they've  seen  that  you  reckon  David 
Slosson  makes  a  tolerable  companion  to  ride  around  with. 
Which  is  some  sense." 

Hazel  turned,  and  her  pretty  eyes  looked  straight  into 


SLOSSON  SNATCHES  AT  OPPORTUNITY      161 

his.  A  man  of  less  vanity  might  have  questioned  the  first 
glance  of  them.  But  Slosson  only  saw  the  following  smile. 

"  Just  tolerable/'  she  cried,  in  a  fashion  which  could  not 
give  offense.  Then  she  abruptly  changed  the  subject. 
"  Get  through  your  business  at  —  the  office  ?  "  she  inquired 
casually. 

Slosson's  eyes  hardened.  In  a  moment  the  memory  of 
Gordon  swept  through  his  brain  in  a  tide  of  swift,  hot 
anger. 

"  There's  nothing  doing,"  he  said  harshly. 

Hazel  turned.  A  quick  alarm  was  shining  in  her  eyes, 
and  the  man  interpreted  it  exactly.  Caution  was  abruptly 
cast  to  the  winds. 

"  Say,  Hazel,"  he  cried  hotly,  "  I'm  going  to  tell  you 
something.  Your  father's  a  —  a  fool.  Oh,  I  don't  mean 
it  just  that  way.  I  mean  he's  a  fool  to  set  that  boy  run- 
ning things  for  him.  He's  plumb  killed  your  golden  goose. 
We've  broken  off  negotiations.  That's  all.  The  railroad 
don't  need  Buffalo  Point." 

"But  what's  Gordon  done?"  the  girl  cried,  for  the  mo- 
ment off  her  guard.  "  Father  gave  him  instructions.  You 
had  an  offer  to  make,  and  it  was  to  be  considered  — 
duly." 

"  What's  Gordon  done?  "  The  man's  eyes  were  hot  with 
fury.  "So  that's  it— '  Gordon/  He's  '  Gordon/  eh?" 
All  in  a  moment  venom  surged  to  the  surface.  The  man's 
unwholesome  features  went  ghastly  in  his  rage.  "  He 
turned  me  —  me  out  of  the  office.  He  told  me  to  go  to 
hell.  Say,  that  pup  has  flung  your  father's  whole  darned 
concern  right  on  to  the  rocks.  So  it's  '  Gordon/ 
eh?  To  everybody  else  he's  'Van  Henslaer/  but  to  you 
he's  '  Gordon/  That's  why  he's  on  to  me,  I  guessed  as 


1 62  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

much.  Well,  say,  you've  about  mussed  up  things  between 
you.  My  back's  right  up,  and  I'm  cursed  if  the  railroad  '11 
move  for  the  benefit  of  those  interested  in  Buffalo  Point." 

Hazel  had  heard  enough.  More  than  enough.  Her 
temper  had  risen  too. 

"Look  here,  Mr.  Slosson.  I  don't  pretend  to  mistake 
your  inference.  Gordon  is  just  a  good  friend  of  mine,"  she 
declared  hotly.  "  But  I've  no  doubt  that  whatever  he  did 
was  justified.  If  we're  going  on  any  farther  together 
you're  going  to  apologize  right  here  and  now  for  what 
you've  said  about  Gordon." 

She  reined  up  her  mare  so  sharply  that  the  startled 
creature  was  flung  upon  her  haunches,  and  the  man's  livery 
horse  went  on  some  yards  farther  before  it  was  pulled  up. 
But  Slosson  came  back  at  once  and  ranged  alongside. 
They  were  already  in  the  bigger  hills,  and  one  shaggy  crag, 
overshadowing  them,  shut  out  the  dazzling  gleam  of  the 
westering  sun. 

"  There's  going  to  be  the  need  of  a  heap  of  apology 
around,"  cried  Slosson,  but  something  of  his  anger  was 
melting  before  the  girl's  flashing  eyes.  Then,  too,  the  mo- 
ment was  the  opportunity  he  had  been  seeking.  "  See  here, 
Hazel " 

"  Don't  you  dare  to  call  me  '  Hazel,' "  the  girl  flung  out 
at  him  hotly.  "  You  will  apologize  here  and  now." 

There  was  no  mistaking  her  determination,  and  the  man 
watched  her  with  furtive  eyes.  He  pretended  to  consider 
deeply  before  he  replied.  At  a  gesture  of  impatience  from 
the  girl  he  finally  flung  out  one  arm. 

"  See  here,"  he  cried,  "  maybe  I  oughtn't  to  have  said 
that,  and  I  guess  I  apologize.  But  —  you  see,  I  was  sort 
of  mad  when  you  talked  that  way  about  this  — '  Gordon.'  " 


SLOSSON  SNATCHES  AT  OPPORTUNITY      163 

His  teeth  clipped  over  the  word.  "  You  see,  Hazel/1  he  in- 
sinuated again,  "  we've  had  a  real  good  time  together,  and 
you  made  it  so  plain  I'm  not  —  indifferent  to  you  that  it 
just  stung  me  bad  to  hear  you  speak  of — 'Gordon.'  I'm 
crazy  about  you,  I  am  sure.  I'm  so  crazy  I  can't  sleep  at 
nights.  I'm  so  crazy  that  I'd  let  the  railroad  folk  go  hang 
just  for  you  —  if  you  just  asked  me.  I'd  even  forget  all 
that  feller  said,  and  would  pool  in  on  Buffalo  Point  the 
way  your  father  needs  —  if  you  asked  me." 

He  waited.  He  had  thrown  every  effort  of  persuasion 
he  was  capable  of  into  his  words  and  manner,  and  Hazel 
was  deceived.  She  did  not  observe  the  furtive  eyes  watch- 
ing her.  She  was  only  aware  of  the  almost  genuine  man- 
ner of  his  pleading. 

"If  I  asked  you?"  she  said  thoughtfully.  Then  she 
looked  up  quickly,  her  eyes  half  smiling.  "  Of  course  I  ask 
you." 

In  a  moment  the  man  pressed  nearer. 

"And  you'll  play  the  game?"  he  asked  almost  breath- 
lessly. 

All  in  a  moment  a  subtle  fear  of  him  swept  through  the 
girl.  Instinctively  her  hand  tightened  its  grip  on  the  heavy 
quirt  swinging  from  her  wrist. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  demanded  in  a  low  tone. 

The  man's  eyes  were  shining  with  the  meaning  lying  be- 
hind his  words.  There  should  have  been  no  necessity  to 
ask  that  question. 

Quite  suddenly  he  reached  farther  out  and  seized  her 
about  the  waist  with  one  hand,  while  with  the  other  he 
caught  her  reins  to  check  her  mare.  The  next  moment  he 
had  crushed  her  to  him  and  his  flushed  face  was  close  to 
hers. 


164  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  There's  only  one  game,"  he  cried  hoarsely. 
"  And " 

But  he  got  no  further.  Like  a  flash  of  lightning  Hazel's 
quirt  slashed  furiously  at  him.  The  blow  was  wild  and 
missed  its  object.  It  fell  on  his  horse's  head  and  neck. 
Again  it  was  raised,  and  again  it  fell  on  the  horse  and  on 
her  mare.  .  The  horse  plunged  aside  and  her  own  mare 
started  forward.  The  next  moment  both  riders  were  on  the 
ground,  struggling  violently. 

Sunset  plowed  along  over  the  prairie.  True  enough,  he 
was  the  rocking-horse  Hazel  had  declared  him  to  be.  But 
she  might  have  added  that  he  was  the  speediest  horse  ever 
foaled  on  her  father's  range. 

Gordon  was  in  no  mood  to  spare  him.  But,  press  him 
as  he  might,  he  seemed  incapable  of  sounding  the  full  depths 
of  his  resources. 

Had  Gordon  only  taken  the  course  of  the  impatient  Slos- 
son  he  would  have  arrived  in  time  to  have  prevented  the 
catastrophe.  But  as  it  was  he  made  the  coalpits,  and,  find- 
ing no  trace  of  either  Hazel  or  the  agent,  with  prompt  de- 
cision he  headed  at  once  for  the  southern  corrals.  It  was 
some  time  before  he  discovered  the  tracks  he  sought,  and 
was  beginning  to  think  that  in  some  extraordinary  fashion 
he  had  missed  them  altogether.  The  thought  stirred  his 
jealousy,  and  —  but  he  put  all  doubt  from  his  mind,  and 
further  bustled  the  long-suffering  Sunset.  Then  came  the 
moment  when  he  first  saw  the  hoof -prints  in  the  sand  of 
the  cattle  track.  In  a  moment  his  thoughts  cleared  and  his 
old  fears  urged  him  on. 

He  was  right  now,  he  knew.  The  hills  about  him  were 
growing  in  height  and  ruggedness.  The  corrals  were  only 


SLOSSON  SNATCHES  AT  OPPORTUNITY      165 

a  few  miles  on,  and  Sunset  was  racing  down  the  track  as 
if  he  were  aware  of  the  threatening  danger  to  the  girl  whom 
he  had  so  often  carried  on  his  back.  But  even  if  he  were 
he  was  utterly  unprepared  for  the  furious  thrashing  of  his 
present  rider's  heels  which  came  as  they  were  approaching 
one  great  shaggy  hill  to  the  south  of  them,  in  answer  to  a 
thin,  high-pitched  shrill  for  "  Help!  " 

Gordon  heard  and  understood.  He  had  been  right,  after 
all,  and  a  terrible  panic  and  fury  assailed  him.  Sunset  was 
racing  now,  with  his  barrel  low  to  the  ground.  Then  as  they 
came  into  the  shadow  of  the  hill  the  faithful  creature  felt 
the  bit  in  his  mouth  jar  suddenly  and  painfully,  and  he 
nearly  sank  on  to  his  haunches. 

Gordon  was  out  of  the  saddle  and  rushing  headlong  like 
some  rage-maddened  bull. 

Something  had  happened,  and  Hazel,  in  a  partial  daze, 
scarcely  understood  quite  what  it  was.  All  she  knew  was 
that  she  was  no  longer  struggling  desperately  in  the  arms 
of  a  man,  with  his  hideous  face  thrust  towards  hers  with 
obvious  intention.  She  had  fought  as  she  had  never 
dreamed  of  having  to  fight  in  all  her  life,  and  in  her  extrem- 
ity she  had  shrilled  again  and  again  for  "  Help ! "  which, 
had  she  thought,  she  would  have  known  was  miles  from  the 
lonely  spot  where  she  was  struggling.  Then  had  happened 
that  something  she  could  not  understand.  She  only  knew 
that  she  was  no  longer  struggling,  and  that  hideous,  coarse, 
passion-lit  face  had  vanished  from  before  her  terrified 
eyes. 

She  had  heard  a  voice,  a  familiar  voice,  hoarse  with  pas- 
sion. The  words  it  had  uttered  were  the  foulest  blasphemy, 
such  words  as  only  a  man  uses  when  in  the  heat  of  battle 


166  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

and  his  desire  is  to  kill.  Then  had  passed  that  nightmare 
face  from  before  her  eyes. 

After  some  moments  her  mental  faculties  became  less  un- 
certain, and  with  their  clearing  she  became  aware  of  a  con- 
fusion of  sounds.  She  heard  the  sound  of  blows  and  the 
incessant  shuffling  of  feet  through  the  tall  prairie  grass. 
She  looked  about  her. 

All  in  a  minute  she  was  on  her  feet,  her  eyes  wide  and 
staring  with  an  expression  half  of  terror,  half  of  the  wild- 
est excitement.  A  fight  was  going  on  —  a  fight  in  which 
six  feet  three  of  science  was  arrayed  against  lesser  stature 
but  equal  strength  and  a  blend  of  animal  fury  which  yearned 
to  kill. 

David  Slosson  came  at  his  hated  adversary  in  lunging 
rushes  and  with  all  his  weight  and  muscle,  hoping  to  clinch 
and  reduce  the  battle  to  the  less  scientific  condition  of  a 
"  rough-and-tumble "  as  it  is  known  only  in  America. 
Once  he  could  achieve  a  definite  clinch  he  knew  that  the  ad- 
vantage would  lie  with  him.  He  knew  the  game  of  "  chew 
and  gouge  "  as  few  men  knew  it.  He  had  learned  it  in  his 
earlier  days  of  lumber  camps. 

But  Gordon  had  steadied  himself  from  his  first  mad  rush. 
It  was  the  sight  of  Hazel  in  this  man's  clutches  that  had 
roused  the  desire  for  murder  in  his  hot  blood.  Now  it  was 
different.  Now  it  was  a  fight,  a  fight  such  as  he  could 
enjoy;  and  such  were  his  feelings  that  he  was  determined 
it  should  be  a  fight  to  a  finish,  even  if  that  finish  should  mean 
a  killing. 

He  had  no  difficulty  in  punishing.  His  opponent's  arms 
came  at  him  wildly,  while  his  own  leads  and  counters  struck 
home  with  smashes  of  a  staggering  nature.  Twice  he  got 
in  an  upper-cut  which  set  his  man  reeling,  and  in  each  case 


SLOSSON  SNATCHES  AT  OPPORTUNITY      167 

he  smashed  home  his  left  immediately  with  all  the  force  of 
his  great  shoulders.  But  David  Slosson  was  tough.  He 
seemed  to  thrive  on  punishment,  and  he  came  again  and 
again. 

Gordon  was  in  his  element.  His  physical  condition  had 
never  been  more  perfect,  and,  provided  that  clinch  was 
prevented,  nothing  on  earth  could  save  his  man.  The  blood 
was  already  streaming  from  Slosson's  cheek,  and  an  ugly 
split  disfigured  his  lower  lip. 

Now  he  came  in  with  his  head  down  —  a  favorite  bull 
rush  of  the  "  rough-and-tumble."  Gordon  saw  it  coming 
and  waited.  He  side-stepped,  and  smashed  a  terrific  blow 
behind  the  left  ear.  The  man  stumbled,  but  saved  himself. 
With  an  inarticulate  attempt  at  an  oath  he  was  at  the  boxer 
again.  Another  rush,  but  it  checked  half-way,  and  a  violent 
kick  was  aimed  at  Gordon's  middle.  It  missed  its  mark, 
but  caught  him  on  the  side  of  the  knee.  The  pain  of  the 
blow  for  a  moment  robbed  the  younger  man  of  his  caution. 
He  responded  with  a  smashing  left  and  right.  They  both 
landed,  but  in  the  rush  his  loose  coat  was  caught  and  held 
as  the  agent  fell. 

Slosson  clung  to  the  coat  as  a  terrier  will  cling  to  a  stick. 
In  spite  of  the  rain  of  blows  battering  his  head  he  held  on. 
It  was  the  first  hold  he  needed.  The  second  came  a  moment 
later.  His  other  arm  crooked  about  Gordon's  right  knee. 
The  next  moment  they  were  on  the  ground  in  the  throes  of 
a  wild,  demoniacal  "  rough-and-tumble." 

The  science  of  the  boxer  could  serve  Gordon  no  longer. 
He  knew  it.  He  knew  also  that  the  fight  was  more  than 
leveled  up.  The  struggle  had  degenerated  into  an  inhuman 
aim  for  those  vital  parts  which  would  leave  the  victim  blind 
or  maimed  for  life. 


1 68  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

By  the  luck  of  Providence  he  fell  uppermost.  His  hands 
being  free  and  his  strength  at  its  greatest,  also  possessing 
nothing  of  the  degraded  mind  of  the  rough-and-tumble 
fighter,  he  went  for  his  opponent's  throat,  and  got  his  grip 
just  as  he  felt  the  other's  teeth  clip,  in  a  savage  snap,  at  his 
right  ear.  It  was  a  happy  miss,  or  he  knew  he  would  have 
spent  the  rest  of  his  life  with  only  one  ear,  and  possibly  part 
of  the  other. 

But  there  were  other  things  to  avoid.  He  crushed  the 
man's  head  upon  the  ground,  while  his  great  hands  tightened 
their  grip  upon  his  throat.  But  Slosson's  hands  were  not 
idle.  They  struggled  up,  and  Gordon  felt  that  they  were 
groping  for  his  throat.  His  own  pressure  increased. 

"  Squeal,  you  swine !  "  he  roared.  "  Squeal,  or  I'll  choke 
the  life  out  of  you! " 

The  man  was  unable  to  squeal  under  the  terrible  throat- 
hold.  His  breath  was  coming  in  gasps.  All  of  a  sudden 
those  groping  hands  made  a  lunge  at  Gordon's  eyes.  One 
finger  even  struck  his  left  eye  with  intent  to  gouge  it  out. 
Gordon  threw  back  his  head,  but  dared  not  release  his  hold. 
His  only  other  defense  was  an  instinctive  one.  He  opened 
his  mouth  and  made  a  wolfish  snap  at  the  hand  that  had 
sought  to  blind  him.  He  bit  three  of  its  fingers  to  the  bone. 
There  was  a  cry  from  the  man  under  his  hands,  and  the 
straining  body  beneath  him  ceased  to  struggle. 

Gordon  released  his  hold  and  stood  up.  He  aimed  one 
violent  kick  of  disgust  at  the  man's  ribs  and  turned  away. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   REWARD   OF   VICTORY 

Gordon  breathed  hard.  He  wiped  the  dust  from  his  per- 
spiring face,  as  a  man  almost  unconsciously  will  do  after  a 
great  exertion.  His  eyes,  however,  remained  on  his  de- 
feated adversary.  Presently  he  moved  away  a  little  uncer- 
tainly. A  moment  later,  equally  uncertainly,  he  picked  up 
his  soft  felt  hat.  Then,  his  gaze  still  steadily  fixed  on  the 
object  of  his  concern,  he  all  unconsciously  smoothed  his  ruf- 
fled hair  and  replaced  his  hat  upon  his  head. 

Hazel,  too,  was  tensely  regarding  the  deathly  silent  figure 
of  David  Slosson.  A  subtle  fear  was  clutching  at  her  heart. 
So  still.  He  was  so  very  still. 

Gordon's  breathing  became  normal,  but  his  eyes  remained 
absurdly  grave.  He  approached  the  prostrate  man.  But 
before  he  reached  his  side  he  paused  abruptly  and  breathed 
a  deep  sigh  of  relief  —  and  began  to  laugh. 

"  Right !  "  he  cried.  Nor  was  he  addressing  any  one  in 
particular. 

Hazel  heard  his  exclamation,  and  the  clutching  fear  at 
her  heart  relaxed  its  grip.  She  understood  that  Gordon, 
too,  had  shared  her  dread. 

Now  she  shifted  her  regard  to  the  victor.  Her  eyes 
were  full  of  a  deep,  unspeakable  feeling.  Gordon  was 
looking  in  another  direction,  so,  for  the  moment,  she  had 
nothing  to  conceal. 


170  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

The  man's  attention  was  upon  the  horses.  A  strange 
diffidence  made  him  reluctant  to  follow  his  impulse  and 
approach  Hazel.  He  had  no  pride  in  his  victory.  Only 
regret  for  the  exhibition  he  had  made  before  her.  Sunset 
and  Slosson's  horse  were  grazing  amicably  together  within 
twenty  yards  of  the  trail.  The  fight  had  disturbed  them  not 
one  whit.  The  Lady  Jane  had  moved  off  farther,  and,  in 
proud  isolation,  ignored  everybody  and  everything  con- 
cerned with  the  indecent  exhibition. 

Gordon  secured  the  livery  horse  to  a  bush,  and  rode  off 
on  Sunset  to  collect  the  Lady  Jane.  When  he  returned  the 
defeated  man  was  stirring. 

One  glance  told  Gordon  all  he  cared  to  know,  and  he 
passed  over  to  where  Hazel  was  still  standing,  and  in  silence 
and  quite  unsmilingly  he  held  the  Lady  Jane  for  her  to 
mount. 

Hazel  avoided  his  eyes,  but  not  from  any  coldness.  She 
feared  lest  he  should  witness  that  which  now,  with  all  her 
might,  she  desired  to  conceal.  Her  feelings  were  stirred 
almost  beyond  her  control.  This  man  had  come  to  her 
rescue  —  he  had  rescued  her  —  by  that  great  chivalrous 
manhood  that  was  his.  And  somehow  she  felt  that  she 
might  have  known  that  he  would  do  so. 

Gordon  was  looking  at  David  Slosson,  who  was  already 
sitting  up.  Once  Hazel  was  in  the  saddle  he  moved  nearer 
to  the  disfigured  agent. 

"If  you're  looking  for  any  more,"  he  said  coldly,  "  you 
can  find  it.  But  don't  you  ever  come  near  Buffalo  Point 
again  or  Mallinsbee's  ranch.  If  you  do  —  I'll  kill  you !  " 

David  Slosson  made  no  reply.  But  his  eyes  followed  the 
two  figures  as  they  rode  off,  full  of  a  bitter  hatred  that 
boded  ill  for  their  futures  should  chance  come  his  way. 


THE  REWARD  OF  VICTORY  171 

For  some  time  the  speeding  horses  galloped  on,  their 
riders  remaining  silent.  A  strange  awkwardness  had 
arisen  between  them.  There  was  so  much  to  say,  so  much 
to  explain.  Neither  of  them  knew  how  to  begin,  or  where. 
So  they  were  nearing  home  when  finally  it  was  Gordon 
whose  sense  of  humor  first  came  to  the  rescue.  They  had 
drawn  their  horses  down  to  a  walk  to  give  them  a  breath. 

Gordon  turned  in  his  saddle.  His  blue  eyes  were  ab- 
surdly smiling. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  observed  interrogatively. 

The  childlike  blandness  of  his  expression  was  all  Hazel 
needed  to  help  her  throw  off  the  painful  restraint  that  was 
fast  overwhelming  her.  Again  he  had  saved  her,  but  this 
time  it  was  from  tears. 

"Well?"  she  smiled  back  at  him  through  the  watery 
signs  of  unshed  tears. 

"  I  guess  Sunset  '11  hate  this  trail  worse  than  anything 
around  Buffalo  Point/'  Gordon  said,  with  a  great  effort  at 
ease.  "  He  got  a  flogging  I'll  swear  he  never  merited." 

"Dear  old  Sunset,"  said  the  girl  softly.  "And  —  and 
he  can  go." 

"  Go  ?  Why,  he's  an  express  train.  Say,  the  Twentieth 
Century,  Limited,  isn't  a  circumstance  to  him." 

Gordon's  laugh  sounded  good  in  Hazel's  ears,  and  the 
last  sign  of  tears  was  banished.  It  had  been  touch  and  go. 
She  had  wanted  to  laugh  and  to  scream  during  the  fight. 
Afterwards  she  had  wanted  only  to  weep.  Now  she  just 
felt  glad  she  was  riding  beside  a  man  whom  she  regarded 
as  something  in  the  nature  of  a  hero. 

"  I  sort  of  feel  I  owe  him  an  apology,"  Gordon  went  on 
doubtfully.  "Same  as  I  owe  you  one.  I  —  I'm  afraid 
I  made  a  —  a  disgusting  exhibition  of  myself.  I  —  I  wish 


172  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

I  hadn't  nearly  bitten  ofif  that  cur's  fingers.  It's  —  awful. 
It  —  was  that  or  lose  my  eyesight." 

Hazel  had  nothing  to  say.  A  shiver  passed  over  her, 
but  it  was  caused  by  the  thought  that  the  man  beside  her 
might  have  been  left  blinded. 

"  You  see,  that  was  '  rough  and  tough/  "  Gordon  went 
on,  feeling  that  he  must  explain.  "  It's  not  human.  It's 
worse  than  the  beasts  of  the  fields.  I  —  I'm  ashamed. 
But  I  had  to  save  my  eyes.  I  thought  I'd  killed  him." 

"  I'm  glad  you  didn't,"  Hazel  said  in  a  low  voice.  Then 
she  added  quickly,  "  But  not  for  his  sake." 

Gordon  nodded. 

"  He  deserved  anything." 

Suddenly  Hazel  turned  a  pair  of  shining  eyes  upon  him. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  were  a  man ! "  she  cried.  "  Deserved  ? 
Oh,  he  deserved  everything;  but  so  did  I.  I'll  never  do  it 
again.  Never,  never,  never!  You  warned  me.  You 
knew.  And  it  was  only  you  who  saved  me  from  the  result 
of  my  folly.  I  —  I  thought  I  was  smart  enough  to  deal 
with  him.  I  —  I  thought  I  was  clever."  She  laughed  bit- 
terly. "  I  thought,  because  I  run  our  ranch  and  can  do 
things  that  few  girls  can  that  way,  I  could  beat  a  man  like 
that.  Say,  Mr.  Van  Henslaer,  I'm  —  just  what  he  took 
me  for  — a  silly  country  girl  Oh,  I  feel  so  mad  with 
myself,  and  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you  I  don't  know  what 
would  have  happened.  Oh,  if  I  could  only  have  fought  like 
you.  It  —  it  was  wonderful.  And  —  I  brought  it  all  on 
you  by  my  folly." 

There  was  a  strange  mixture  of  emotion  in  the  girl's 
swift  flow  of  words.  There  was  a  bitter  feeling  of  self- 
contempt,  a  vain  and  helpless  regret ;  but  in  all  she  said,  in 
her  shining  eyes  and  warmth  of  manner,  there  was  a 


THE  REWARD  OF  VICTORY  173 

scarcely  concealed  delight  in  her  rescuer's  great  manhood, 
courage  and  devotion.  If  Gordon  beheld  it,  it  is  doubtful 
if  he  read  it  aright.  For  himself,  a  great  joy  that  he  had 
been  of  service  in  her  protection  pervaded  him.  Just  now, 
for  him,  all  life  centered  round  Hazel  Mallinsbee  and  her 
well-being. 

"  You  brought  nothing  on/'  he  said,  his  eyes  smiling  ten- 
derly round  at  her.  "  He's  a  disease  that  would  overtake 
any  girl."  Then  he  began  to  laugh,  with  the  intention  of 
dispelling  all  her  regrets.  "  Say,  he's  just  one  of  life's  ex- 
periences, and  experience  is  generally  unpleasant.  See  how 
much  he's  taught  us  both.  You've  learned  that  a  feller  who 
can  wear  a  suit  that  sets  all  sense  of  good  taste  squirming 
most  generally  has  a  mind  to  match  it.  I've  learned  that 
no  honesty  of  methods,  whether  in  scrapping  or  anything 
else,  is  a  match  for  the  unscrupulous  methods  of  a  low-down 
mind.  Guess  we'll  both  pigeon-hole  those  facts  and  try  not 
to  forget  'em.  But  say  —  there's  worse  worrying,"  he 
added,  with  an  absurdly  happy  laugh. 

"Worse?" 

"  Only  worse  because  it  hasn't  happened  yet  —  like  the 
other  things  have.  You  see,  the  worst  always  lies  in  those 
things  we  don't  know." 

"You're  thinking  of  the  Buffalo  Point  scheme?" 

"  Partly." 

"Partly?" 

"  Did  he  tell  you  anything?  " 

Hazel  nodded. 

"  He  said  you'd  —  turned  him  out  of  the  office." 

"That  all?"     Gordon  was  chuckling. 

"  He  said  you'd  told  him  to  go  to "  Hazel's  eyes 

smiling. 


I74  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"Just  so.  I  did/'  returned  Gordon.  "That's  the 
trouble  now.  I've  got  to  face  your  father.  I've  hit  on  a 
plan  to  beat  this  feller.  I've  got  the  help  of  Peter  McSwain 
and  some  of  the  boys  at  Snake's.  I'd  a  notion  we'd  pull  the 
thing  off,  so  I  just  took  it  into  my  own  hands  —  and  your 
father  don't  know  of  it.  I'm  worrying  how  he'll  feel. 
You  see,  if  I  fail,  why,  I've  busted  the  whole  contract.  And 
now  this  thing.  Say,  what's  going  to  happen  next?"  As 
he  put  his  final  question  his  smiling  face  looked  ludicrously 
serene. 

Hazel  had  entirely  recovered  from  her  recent  experiences. 
She  laughed  outright.  More  and  more  this  man  appealed 
to  her.  His  calm,  reckless  courage  was  a  wonderful  thing 
in  her  eyes.  Their  whole  schemes  might  be  jeopardized  by 
that  afternoon's  work,  but  he  had  acted  without  thought  of 
consequence,  without  thought  of  anybody  or  anything  be- 
yond the  fact  that  he  yearned  to  beat  this  man  Slosson,  and 
would  spare  nothing  to  do  so.  What  was  this  wild  scheme 
he  had  suddenly  conceived,  almost  the  first  moment  he  was 
left  in  sole  control? 

She  tried  to  look  serious. 

"  Can  you  tell  it  me  now  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  could,  of  course,  but " 

"  You'd  rather  wait  to  see  father  about  it." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Gordon,  with  a  wry  twist  of  the  lips 
and  a  shrug.  "  Say,  did  you  ever  feel  a  perfect,  idiotic 
fool  ?  No,  of  course  you  never  have,  because  you  couldn't 
be  one.  I  feel  that  way.  Guess  it's  a  sort  of  reaction.  I 
just  know  I've  busted  everything.  The  whole  of  our 
scheme  is  on  the  rocks,  through  me,  and,  for  the  life  of  me, 
somehow  I  —  I  don't  care.  I've  hit  up  that  cur  so  he  won't 
want  his  med'cine  again  for  years,  and  it  was  good,  because 


THE  REWARD  OF  VICTORY  175 

it  was  for  you.  So  I  don't  just  care  two  cents  about  any- 
thing. Say,  I'm  learning  I'm  alive,  same  as  you  talked 
about  the  first  day  I  met  you,  and  it's  you  are  teaching 
me.  But  the  champagne  of  life  isn't  just  Life.  Guess  Life 
is  just  a  cheap  claret.  You're  the  champagne  of  my  life. 
That  being  so,  I  guess  I'm  a  drunkard  for  champagne." 

Hazel  was  held  serious  by  some  feeling  that  also  kept  her 
silent.  Somehow  she  could  no  longer  face  those  shining, 
smiling,  ingenuous  blue  eyes.  She  wanted  to,  because  she 
felt  they  were  the  most  beautiful  in  the  whole  world,  and 
she  longed  to  go  on  gazing  into  them  forever  and  ever. 
But  something  forced  her  to  deny  herself,  and  she  kept  hers 
straight  ahead. 

Gordon  went  on. 

"  Say,  I  haven't  said  anything  wrong,  have  I  ?  "  he  cried, 
fearful  of  her  displeasure.  "  You  see,  I  can't  put  things 
as  they  run  through  my  head.  That's  one  of  the  queer 
things  about  a  feller.  You  know,  I've  got  a  whole  heap  of 
beautiful  language  running  around  in  my  head,  and  when 
I  try  to  turn  it  loose  it  comes  out  all  mussed  up  and  wrong. 
Guess  you've  never  been  like  that.  That's  where  girls  are 
so  clever.  D'you  know,  if  you  were  to  ask  me  just  to  pass 
the  salt  at  supper  it  would  sound  to  me  like  the  taste  of  ice- 
cream ?" 

Hazel  looked  round  at  the  earnest  face  with  a  swift  side- 
long glance.  Then  her  laughter  would  no  longer  be  denied. 

"Would  it?  "she  cried. 

"  Say,  don't  laugh  at  a  feller.  I'm  in  great  trouble," 
Gordon  went  on  quickly. 

"Trouble?" 

"  Sure.  Wouldn't  you  be  if  you'd  bust  up  a  man's  scheme 
the  same  as  I  have,  and  if  the  only  person  in  the  world 


176  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

whose  opinion  you  cared  for  can't  help  but  think  you  all 
sorts  of  a  fool  ?  " 

Hazel's  smile  had  become  very,  very  tender. 

"  Who  thinks  you  a  —  fool  ?  " 

"  Anybody  with  sense." 

"  Then  I'm  afraid  I've  got  no  sense." 

Gordon  found  himself  looking  into  the  girl's  serious  eyes. 

"  You  —  don't    think    me  —  a  —  fool  ?  "    he    cried    in- 

^ 

credulously. 

Hazel  had  no  longer  any  inclination  to  laugh.  A  great 
emotion  suddenly  surged  through  her  heart,  and  her  pretty 
oval  face  was  set  flushing. 

"  When  a  woman  owes  a  man  what  I  owe  you,  if  he  were 
the  greatest  fool  in  the  world  to  others,  to  that  woman  he 
becomes  all  that  is  great  and  fine,  and  —  and  —  oh,  just 
everything  she  can  think  good  of  him.  But  you  —  you  are 
not  a  fool,  or  anything  approaching  it.  I  don't  care  what 
you  have  done  in  our  affairs  —  for  me,  whatever  it  is,  it  is 
right.  I'll  tell  you  something  more.  I  am  certain  that  if 
my  daddy  wins  through  it  will  be  your  doing." 

Gordon  had  nothing  to  say.  He  was  dumbfounded. 
Hazel,  in  her  generosity,  was  the  woman  he  had  always 
dreamed  of  since  that  first  day  he  had  seen  her,  which 
seemed  so  far  back  and  long  ago.  He  had  nothing  to  say, 
because  there  was  just  one  thought  in  his  mind,  and  that 
thought  was,  then  and  there  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  re- 
lease her  for  no  man,  not  even  her 

Hazel  was  pointing  along  the  trail. 

"  Why,  there  is  my  daddy  coming  along  —  on  foot. 
I've  never  —  known  him  to  walk  a  prairie  trail  ever  before, 
I  wonder  what's  ailing  him." 

And  then  Gordon  had  to  laugh. 


THE  REWARD  OF  VICTORY  177 

They  were  back  in  the  office.  By  every  conceivable  proc- 
ess Silas  Mallinsbee  had  sought  to  discover  what  had  hap- 
pened. But  Hazel  would  tell  him  nothing,  and  Gordon  fol- 
lowed her  lead. 

The  old  man  was  disturbed.  He  was  on  the  verge  of 
anger  with  both  of  them.  Then  Hazel  lifted  the  safety 
valve  as  she  remounted  her  mare,  preparatory  to  a  hasty 
retreat  homewards. 

"  I'll  get  back  to  home,  Daddy/'  she  said,  in  a  tone  lack- 
ing all  her  usual  enthusiasm.  "  Mr.  Van  Henslaer  has  a 
Jot  to  tell  you  about  things,  and  when  I  am  not  here  he'll  be 
able  to  tell  you  all  that  happened  —  out  there/' 

Gordon  again  took  his  cue. 

"  Yes,  I've  a  heap  to  tell  you,"  he  said,  without  any  dis- 
play of  enjoyment. 

The  men  passed  into  the  office  as  Hazel  took  her  depar- 
ture. Her  farewell  wave  of  the  hand  and  its  accompanying 
smile  for  once  were  not  for  her  father.  Even  in  the  midst 
of  his  mixed  feelings  that  obvious  farewell  to  Gordon  made 
the  old  rancher  feel  a  breath  of  the  winter  he  had  once 
spoken  of,  nipping  the  rims  of  his  ears. 

And  his  mind  settled  upon  the  thought  of  banking  the 
furnaces  with  —  coal. 

He  took  his  seat  in  the  big  chair  he  always  used  and  lit  a 
cigar.  Gordon  went  at  once  to  his  desk  and  sat  down.  He 
leaned  forward  with  hands  clasped,  and  looked  squarely  into 
the  strong  face  before  him. 

"  It's  bad  talk,"  he  said  briefly. 

"  So  I  guessed." 

Then,  after  a  few  moments  of  silence,  Gordon  recounted 
the  story  of  the  events  of  the  afternoon  right  up  to  Mallins- 
bee's  arrival  at  the  office. 


1 78  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

The  rancher  listened  without  comment,  but  with  obvious 
impatience.  This  was  not  what  he  wanted  to  hear  first. 
But  Gordon  had  his  own  way  of  doing  things. 

"  You  see,  I  took  a  big  chance  on  the  spur  of  the  mo- 
ment," he  finished  up.  "  I  just  didn't  dare  to  think.  The 
idea  took  right  hold  of  me.  And  even  now,  when  I  tell  it 
you  in  cold  blood,  I  seem  to  feel  it  was  one  of  those  inspira- 
tions that  don't  need  to  be  passed  by.  In  the  ordinary  way 
I  believe  it  would  succeed.  Slosson  would  have  been  driven 
into  our  plans.  But  —  but  now  there's  worse  to  come." 

"  So  I  guessed." 

Mallinsbee's  answer  was  sharp  and  dry. 

"  And  it's  the  most  important  of  your  talk,"  he  added  a 
moment  later.  "  What  happened  —  out  there?  " 

Gordon's  eyes  took  on  a  far-away  expression  as  he  gazed 
out  of  the  window. 

"  I  nearly  killed  David  Slosson,"  he  said  simply.  Then 
he  added,  "  I  knew  I'd  have  to  do  it  before  I'd  finished." 

His  gaze  came  back  to  Mallinsbee's  face.  A  fierce  anger 
had  made  his  blue  eyes  stern  and  cold.  Then  he  told  the 
rancher  of  his  finding  Hazel  struggling  furiously  in  the 
man's  arms,  and  of  her  piteous  cry  for  help,  and  all  that 
followed. 

While  he  was  still  talking  the  girl's  father  had  leaped 
from  his  seat  and  began  pacing  the  little  room  like  a  caged 
wild  beast.  His  cigar  was  forgotten,  and  every  now  and 
then  he  paused  abruptly  as  Gordon  made  some  definite  point. 
His  eyes  were  darkly  furious,  his  nostrils  quivered,  his  great 
hands  clenched  at  his  sides,  and  in  the  end,  when  the  story 
was  told,  he  stood  towering  before  the  desk  with  a 
pair  of  murderous  eyes  shining  down  upon  the  younger 
man. 


THE  REWARD  OF  VICTORY  179 

"God  in  heaven!"  he  cried  furiously;  "  and  he's  still 
alive?" 

Then  he  turned  away  abruptly.  A  revolver-belt  was 
hanging  on  the  wall,  and  he  moved  towards  it.  But  Gor- 
don was  on  his  feet  in  a  moment. 

''  That  gun's  mine,  and  —  you  can't  have  it !  " 

Gordon  was  standing  in  front  of  the  weapon,  facing  the 
furious  eyes  of  the  father. 

"  Stand  aside !     I'm  —  going  to  kill  him  —  now." 

But  Gordon  made  no  movement. 

"  No,"  he  said,  with  a  stony  calmness. 

It  was  a  painful  moment.  It  was  a  moment  full  of  threat 
and  intense  crisis.  One  false  move  on  Gordon's  part,  and 
the  maddened  father's  fury  would  be  turned  on  him. 

The  younger  man  forced  a  smile  to  his  eyes. 

"  You  once  said  I  could  scrap,  Mr.  Mallinsbee.  I  prom- 
ise you  I  scrapped  as  I  never  did  before.  That  man  hasn't 
one  whole  feature  in  his  face,  and  if  the  hangman's  rope 
had  been  drawn  tight  around  his  neck  it  couldn't  have  done 
very  much  more  damage  than-,  my  fingers  did.  I  tell  you 
he's  has  his  med'cine  good  and  plenty.  There's  no  need  for 
more  —  that  way.  But  we're  going  to  hurt  him.  We're 
going  to  hurt  him  more  by  outing  him  from  this  deal  of 
ours  than  ever  by  killing  him.  We're  going  to  stand  at 
nothing  now  to  — '  out '  him.  Let's  get  our  minds  fixed 
that  way.  If  one  plan  don't  succeed  —  another  must." 

Standing  there  eye  to  eye  Gordon  won  his  way.  He  saw 
with  satisfaction  the  fire  in  the  old  man's  eyes  slowly  die 
down.  Then  he  watched  him  reluctantly  return  to  his 
chair. 

It  was  not  until  the  rancher  had  struck  a  match  and  relit 
his  cigar  that  Gordon  ventured  to  return  to  his  desk. 


i8o  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  You're  right,  boy,"  Mallinsbee  said  at  last.  "  You're 
right  —  and  youVe  done  right.  If  the  whole  scheme  busts 
we  —  can't  help  it.  But  —  but  we'll  out  that  —  cur." 

The  hall  porter  at  the  Carbhoy  Building  was  perturbed. 
He  was  more  than  perturbed.  He  was  ruffled  out  of  his 
blatant  superiority  and  dignity,  and  reduced  to  a  condition 
when  he  could  not  state,  with  any  degree  of  accuracy, 
whether  the  Statue  of  Liberty  was  a  symbol  of  Freedom 
or  a  mere  piece  of  cheap  decoration  for  New  York  Har- 
bor. 

The  precincts  of  the  beautiful  colored  marble  entrance 
hall  over  which  he  presided  had  been  invaded,  against  all 
rules,  by  a  woman  who  obviously  had  no  business  there. 
Moreover,  he  had  been  powerless  to  stay  the  invasion.  Also 
he  had  been  forced  to  submit  out  of  a  sheer  sense  of  polite- 
ness to  the  sex,  a  politeness  it  was  not  his  habit  to  display 
even  towards  his  wife.  Furthermore,  like  the  veriest  un- 
derling, instead  of  the  autocrat  he  really  was,  he  had  been 
ordered  —  ordered  —  to  announce  the  lady's  arrival  to  Mr. 
James  Carbhoy,  and  forthwith  conduct  her  to  that  holy  of 
holies,  which  no  other  female,  except  the  cleaner,  had  ever 
been  permitted  to  enter.  It  was  Mrs.  James  Carbhoy  who 
had  caused  the  deplorable  upheaval. 

But  Mrs.  James  Carbhoy  was  in  no  mood  to  parley  with 
any  hall  porter,  however  gorgeous  his  livery.  She  was  in 
no  mood  to  parley  even  with  her  husband.  She  was  dis- 
turbed out  of  her  customary  condition  of  passive  acqui- 
escence. She  was  heartbroken,  too,  and  ready  to  weep 
against  any  manly  chest  with  which  her  head  came  into  con- 
tact. It  is  doubtful,  even,  if  a  Fifth  Avenue  policeman's 
chest  would  have  been  safe  from  her  attentions  in  that  di- 


THE  REWARD  OF  VICTORY  181 

rection.     And  surely  distress  must  certainly  be  overwhelm- 
ing that  would  not  shrink  from  such  support. 

James  Carbhoy  detected  the  signs  the  moment  his  door 
was  opened,  and  his  wife  tripped  over  the  fringe  of  the 
splendid  Turkey  carpet  and  precipitated  herself  into  the 
great  morocco  arm-chair  nearest  to  her,  waving  a  bunch  of 
letter-paper  violently  in  his  direction. 

"  I've  been  to  the  Inquiry  Bureau,  and  had  a  man  detailed 
right  away  to  go  and  find  the  boy,"  she  burst  out  at  once. 
Then  all  her  mother's  anxiety  merged  into  an  attack  upon 
the  man  who  silently  rose  from  his  desk  and  closed  the  door 
she  had  left  open.  "  I  don't  know  what  to  say  to  you, 
James,"  she  went  on.  "  I  can't  just  think  why  I'm  sitting 
right  here  in  the  presence  of  such  a  monster.  Here  you've 
driven  our  boy  from  the  house.  Maybe  you've  driven  him 
to  his  death,  or  even  worse,  and  I  can't  even  get  you  to  make 
an  attempt  to  discover  if  he's  alive  or  —  or  dead.  This  let- 
ter came  this  morning,"  she  went  on,  holding  the  pages 
aloft,  lest  he  should  escape  their  reproach.  "  And  if  he 
hasn't  gone  and  married  some  hussy  there,  out  in  some  un- 
civilized region,  I  don't  know  a  thing.  S'pose  he's  married 
a  half-breed  or  —  or  a  squaw,"  she  cried,  her  eyes  rolling 
in  horror  at  the  bare  idea.  "  It  —  it'll  be  your  fault  — 
your  doing.  You're  just  a  cruel  monster,  and  if  it  wasn't 
for  our  Gracie's  sake  I'd  —  I'd  get  a  divorce.  You  —  you 
ought  to  be  ashamed,  James  Carbhoy.  You  ought  — 
ought  to  be  in  —  in  prison,  instead  of  sitting  there  grinning 
like  some  fool  image." 

The  millionaire  leaned  back  in  his  chair  wearily. 

"  Oh,  read  the  letter,  Mary.     You  make  me  tired." 

"Tired?  Letter,  you  call  it,"  cried  the  excited  woman. 
"  I  tell  you  it's  —  it's  a  lot  of  gibberish  that  no  sane  son 


182  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

of  ours  ever  wrote.  Oh !  you're  as  bad  as  those  men  at  the 
bureau.  I  made  them  read  it,  and  —  and  they  said  he  was 
a  —  bright  boy.  Bright,  indeed!  You  listen  to  this 
and  you  can  judge  for  yourself  —  if  you've  any  sense  at 
all." 

"  DEAREST  MUM  : 

"  I  haven't  written  you  in  weeks,  which  should  tell  you 
that  I  am  quite  up  to  the  average  in  my  sense  of  filial  duty. 
It  should  also  tell  you  that  I  hope  I  am  prospering  both  in 
health  and  in  worldly  matters.  I  say  '  hope  '  because  noth- 
ing much  seems  certain  in  this  world  except  the  perfidy  of 
human  nature.  It  has  been  said  that  disappointment  is  re- 
sponsible for  all  the  hope  in  the  world,  but  I'd  like  to  say 
right  here  that  that's  just  a  sort  of  weak  play  on  words 
which  don't  do  justice  to  the  meanest  intelligence.  I  am 
full  of  hope  and  haven't  yet  been  disappointed.  Not  even 
in  my  conviction  that  human  nature  has  some  good  points, 
but  bad  points  predominate,  which  makes  you  feel  you'd, 
generally  speaking,  like  to  kick  it  plenty. 

"  While  I'm  on  the  subject  of  human  nature  it  would  be 
wrong  not  to  discriminate  between  male  and  female  human 
nature.  Male  can  be  dismissed  under  one  plain  heading: 
'  Self  ' —  a  heading  which  embraces  every  unpleasant  fea- 
ture in  life,  from  extreme  moral  rectitude,  with  its  various 
branches  of  self-complacency,  down  to  chewing  tobacco,  to 
me  a  symbol  of  all  that  is  criminally  filthy  in  life.  Female 
human  nature  comes  under  a  similar  heading,  only,  in  a 
woman's  case,  '  Self '  is  a  combination  of  the  two  personali- 
ties, male  and  female.  You  see,  '  Self,'  in  female  human 
nature,  is  not  a  complete  proposition  in  itself.  Before  it 
becomes  complete  there  must  be  a  man  in  the  case,  even  if 


THE  REWARD  OF  VICTORY  183 

he  be  a  disgrace  to  his  sex.  I  will  explain.  You  couldn't 
entertain  any  feeling  or  purpose  without  the  old  Dad  com- 
ing into  your  focus.  But  with  man  it's  different.  The 
only  reason  a  woman  comes  into  his  life  at  all  is  so  that  he 
can  kick  her  out  of  it  if  she  don't  do  just  as  he  says  and 
wants.  I  guess  this  sounds  better  to  me  writing  from  here 
than  maybe  it  will  to  you  in  your  parlor  in  New  York.  But 
it's  easier  to  say  things  when  you  feel  yourself  shorn  of  the 
artificialities  of  life. 

"  This  is  merely  preliminary,  leading  up  to  two  pieces  of 
news  I  have  to  hand  to  you.  The  first  is,  I  have  discovered 
that  woman  is  the  greatest  proposition  inspired  by  a  creative 
Providence  for  the  delight  of  man,  but  in  business,  unless 
specially  trained,  she's  liable  to  fall  even  below  the  surface 
scum  which  includes  the  lesser  grade  of  biped  called  '  man.' 
The  second  is  that  man,  generally,  is  a  pretty  disgusting 
brute,  and  I  allow  he  deserves  all  he  gets  in  life,  even  to 
lynching.  Understand  I  am  speaking  generally,  as  a  look- 
er-on, whose  eyes  are  no  longer  blinded  by  the  glamour 
of  wealth  in  a  big  city  and  the  comforts  of  a  luxurious  home. 

"  I  feel  I've  got  to  say  right  here  that  to  me,  apart  from 
the  foregoing  observations,  woman  is  just  the  most  wonder- 
ful thing  in  all  this  wonderful  world.  Her  perfections  and 
graces  are  just  sublime;  her  understanding  of  man  is  so 
sympathetic  that  it  don't  seem  to  me  she'd  need  more  than 
two  guesses  to  locate  how  many  dollars  he'd  got  in  his 
pocket  or  the  quality  of  the  brain  oozing  out  under  his  hat. 

"  I  guess  her  eyes  are  just  the  dandiest  things  ever.  Fur- 
thermore, when  they  happen  to  be  hazel,  they  got  a  knack 
of  boring  holes  right  through  you,  and  chasing  around  and 
finding  the  smallest  spark  of  decency  that  may  happen  to 
be  lying  hidden  in  the  general  muck  of  a  man's  moral  make- 


184  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

up.  They  do  more  than  that.  I'd  say  there  never  was  a 
man  in  this  world  who,  under  such  circumstances,  happens 
to  become  aware  of  some  such  spark,  but  wants  to  start  right 
in  and  fan  it  into  a  big  bonfire  to  burn  up  the  refuse  under 
which  it's  been  so  long  secreted.  That's  how  he's  bound  to 
feel  —  anyway,  at  first. 

"  A  woman's  just  every  sort  of  thing  a  man  needs  around 
him.  It  don't  seem  a  matter  for  worry  if  the  sun-spots 
became  a  complete  rash  and  its  old  light  went  out  altogether. 
That  feller  would  still  see  those  wonderful  eyes  shining 
out  of  the  darkness,  giving  him  all  the  light  he  needed  in 
which  to  play  foolish  and  think  himself  all  sorts  of  a  man. 

"  Guess  when  he'd  worked  overtime  that  way  and  sleep 
set  him  dreaming  he'd  make  pictures  he  couldn't  paint  in  a 
year.  There'd  be  every  sort  of  peaceful  delight  in  'em. 
There'd  be  lambs,  and  children  without  clothes,  and  birds 
and  flowers.  And  the  lambs  would  bleat,  and  the  children 
sing,  and  the  birds  flutter,  and  the  flowers  smell,  and  all  the 
world  would  be  full  of  joy.  Then  he'd  wake  up.  Maybe 
it  would  be  different  then.  You  see,  a  man  awake  figures 
his  woman  needs  to  look  like  the  statue  of  Venus,  be  burst- 
ing with  the  virtues  of  a  first-class  saint,  and  possess  the 
economical  inspiration  of  a  Chinee  cook. 

"  In  pursuance  of  these  discoveries  of  mine  I  feel  that 
maybe  I've  got  a  wrong  focus  of  our  Gracie.  Maybe  when 
she  gets  sense,  and  sort  of  finds  herself  floating  around  in 
the  divine  beauties  of  womanhood,  some  escaped  crank  may 
chase  along  and  figure  she  possesses  some  of  the  wonderful 
charms  I've  been  talking  about.  Personally  I  wish  our 
Gracie  well,  and  am  hoping  for  the  best.  Still,  I  feel  what- 
ever trouble  she  has  getting  a  husband  I  don't  guess  it'll  end 
there  —  the  trouble,  I  mean. 


THE  REWARD  OF  VICTORY  185 

"  To  come  to  my  second  discovery,  it  has  afforded  me 
some  pleasant  moments,  as  well  as  considerable  disgust  and 
anger.  It  may  seem  difficult  to  associate  these  emotions 
without  confusion.  But  were  you  to  fully  understand  the 
situation  you  would  realize  that  they  could  be  associated  in 
one  harmonious  whole.  With  anger  coming  first,  you  find 
yourself  in  a  frenzied  state  of  elation,  capable  of  achieving 
anything,  from  murder  down  to  robbing  the  dead.  It  is  a 
splendid  feeling,  and  saves  one  from  the  rust  of  good- 
natured  ineptitude.  Then  come  the  pleasant  moments, 
which  may  find  themselves  in  extreme  exertion  and  the  gen- 
eral exercise  of  muscles,  and  even,  in  some  cases  —  brains. 
Disgust  is  the  necessary  mental  attitude  under  reaction. 
This  is  how  my  discovery  affected  me.  But  I  fancy  the 
object  through  which  I  made  my  second  discovery  was  prob- 
ably affected  otherwise.  I  can't  just  say  offhand.  Maybe 
I'll  learn  later,  and  be  able  to  tell  you. 

"  There  is  not  a  day  passes  but  what  I  make  discoveries 
of  a  more  or  less  interesting  nature.  For  instance,  I've 
learned  that  there's  nothing  like  three  people  hating  one  per- 
son to  make  for  a  bond  of  friendship  between  them.  I'd 
say  it's  far  more  binding  than  marriage  vows  at  the  altar. 
This  comes  under  the  heading  of  '  more  '  interesting.  Un- 
der the  *  less '  comes  such  things  as  —  the  only  time  that 
impulsive  action  justifies  itself  is  when  you're  sure  of  win- 
ning out.  I  have  given  myself  two  examples  of  impulsive 
action  only  to-day.  The  one  in  which  I  have  won  out  seems 
to  have  ruined  the  chances  of  the  other.  This  is  a  confusion 
that  doesn't  seem  to  justify  anything.  Still,  a  philosopher 
might  be  able  to  disentangle  it. 

"  I  should  be  glad  if  you  would  give  the  old  Dad  my 
best  love,  and  tell  him  that  the  figures  representing  one 


186  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

hundred  thousand  dollars  grow  in  size  with  the  advancing 
weeks.  Nor  can  I  tell  how  big  they  will  appear  by  the  end 
of  six  months.  If  they  grow  in  my  view  at  the  present  rate, 
by  the  end  of  six  months  it  seems  to  me  I'll  need  to  walk 
around  looking  through  the  wrong  end  of  a  telescope  so  as 
to  get  a  place  for  my  feet  anywhere  on  this  continent. 
However,  as  '  disappointment '  has  not  yet  appeared  to 
create  '  hope,'  it  is  obvious  that  '  conviction  '  remains. 

"  I  regret  that  time  does  not  permit  me  to  write  more,  so 
I  will  close.  Any  further  news  I  have  to  give  'you  I  will 
embody  in  another  letter. 

"  Your  loving  son, 

"  GORDON. 

"  P.S. —  I  have  been  thinking  a  great  deal  about  Gracie 
lately,  she  being  of  the  female  sex.  Of  course,  I  could  not 
compare  her  with  a  real  woman,  but  I  feel,  with  a  little  ju- 
dicious broadening  of  her  mind,  say  by  travel  or  setting  her 
out  to  earn  her  living,  she  might  develop  in  the  right  direc- 
tion. It  is  a  thought  worth  pondering.  Such  a  process 
might  even  have  good  results. 

"  G." 

Mrs.  James  Carbhoy's  angry  and  disgusted  eyes  were 
raised  from  her  reading  to  confront  her  husband's  amused 
smile. 

"Well?"     she     demanded.     "Is     it    sunstroke,     or  — 

or ?" 

'  That  inquiry  agent  was  a  smart  feller,"  the  millionaire 
interrupted.     "  Gordon  surely  is  a  —  bright  boy." 

Mrs.  Carbhoy's  indignation  leaped.  And  with  its  leap 
came  another.  She  fairly  bounced  out  of  the  chair  she  had 


THE  REWARD  OF  VICTORY  187 

occupied  and  hurled  herself  at  the  mahogany  door  of  the 
office. 

"  James  Carbhoy,  I  shall  see  to  this  matter  myself.  I 
always  knew  you  were  merely  a  money  machine.  Now  I 
know  you  have  neither  heart  nor  sense." 

She  flung  open  the  door.  Again  she  tripped  over  the 
fringe  of  the  carpet,  and,  with  a  smothered  ejaculation,  flew 
headlong  in  the  direction  of  the  hall  porter's  stately 
presence. 


CHAPTER  XV 

IN   COUNCIL 

There  come  days  in  a  man's  life  which  are  not  easily 
forgotten.  Some  poignant  incident  indelibly  fixes  them 
upon  memory,  and  they  become  landmarks  in  his  career. 
The  next  day  became  one  of  such  in  Gordon's  life. 

It  was  just  a  little  extraordinary,  too,  that  memory  should 
have  selected  this  particular  day  in  preference  to  the  pre- 
ceding one.  The  first  of  the  two  should  undoubtedly  have 
been  the  more  significant,  for  it  partook  of  a  nature  which 
appealed  directly  to  those  innermost  hopes  and  yearnings 
of  a  youthful  heart.  Surely,  before  all  things  in  life,  Na- 
ture claims  to  itself  the  passionate  yearning  of  the  sexes  as 
paramount.  Gordon  had  fought  for  the  woman  he  loved, 
and  basked  in  her  smiles  of  approval  at  his  victory.  Was 
not  this  sufficient  to  make  it  a  day  of  days?  The  psycho- 
logical fact  remained,  the  indelible  memory  of  the  next  day 
was  planted  on  the  mysterious  photographic  plates  of  his 
mental  camera  in  preference. 

It  was  a  day  of  wild  excitement.  It  was  a  day  of  hopes 
raised  to  a  fevered  pitch,  and  then  hurled  headlong  to  a 
bottomless  abyss  of  despair.  It  was  a  day  of  passionate 
feeling  and  bitter  memories.  A  day  of  hopeless  looking 
forward  and  of  depression.  Then,  as  a  last  and  final  twist 
of  the  whirligig  of  emotion,  it  resolved  itself  into  one  great 
burst  of  enthusiasm  and  hope. 


IN  COUNCIL  189 

It  started  in  at  the  earliest  hour.  Hip-Lee  was  preparing 
breakfast,  and  Gordon  was  still  dressing.  A  note  was 
brought  from  Peter  McSwain.  Gordon  opened  it,  and  the 
first  emotions  of  an  eventful  day  began  to  take  definite 
shape. 

The  note  informed  him  that  McSwain  had  been  faithful 
to  his  promise.  He,  assisted  by  Mike  Callahan  of  the  livery 
barn,  had  worked  strenuously.  The  results  had  been  splen- 
did amongst  all  the  principal  landholders  in  Snake's  Fall 
and  Buffalo  Point.  Prices  this  morning  were  "  skied " 
prohibitively. 

The  holders  saw  their  advantage.  Even  if  the  railroad 
bought  in  Snake's  Fall  they  would  be  "  on  velvet/'  They 
agreed  that  it  was  the  first  sound  move  made.  They  agreed 
that  it  was  good  to  "  jolly  "  a  railroad.  The  men  who  did 
not  hold  in  Buffalo  only  held  insignificant  property  in 
Snake's  Fall,  which  would  be  useless  to  the  railroad.  But 
should  the  railroad  buy  there,  even  these  would  be  benefited. 

Gordon  began  to  feel  that  palpitating  excitement  in  the 
stomach  indicative  of  a  disturbed  nervous  system.  Things 
were  stirring.  He  examined  the  situation  from  the  view 
point  of  yesterday's  encounter.  With  these  people  working 
in  with  him,  the  future  certainty  began  to  look  brighter 
than  when  he  had  retired  to  bed  over-night. 

Mallinsbee  came  along  after  breakfast,  and  Gordon 
showed  him  McSwain's  message. 

The  rancher  read  it  over  twice.  Then  his  opinion  came 
in  deep,  rumbling  notes. 

"  That's  sure  what  you  needed,"  he  said,  with  a  shrewd, 
twinkling  smile.  "  But  I  don't  guess  the  shoutin's  begun." 

"No?" 

Gordon  eyed  him  uneasily.     He  had  felt  rather  pleased. 


190  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  We  can't  shout  till  Slosson  talks,"  the  rancher  went 
on.  "That  talk  of  Peter's  is  still  only  our  side  of  the 
play." 

"  Yes." 

Gordon  was  at  his  desk. 

Then  a  diversion  was  created  by  the  advent  of  a  fat 
stranger  with  a  large  expanse  of  highly  colored  waistcoat, 
and  a  watchguard  to  match. 

He  wanted  to  talk  "  sites,"  and  spent  half  an  hour  doing 
so.  When  he  had  gone  Mallinsbee  offered  an  explanation 
which  had  passed  Gordon's  inexperience  by. 

"  That  feller's  worried,"  he  observed.  "  He's  got  wind 
there's  something  doing,  and  is  scared  to  death  the  specu- 
lators are  to  be  shut  out.  He's  going  back  to  report  to  the 
boys.  Maybe  we'll  hear  from  Peter  again  —  later.  I 
wonder  what  Slosson's  thinking  ?  " 

Gordon  smiled. 

"  I  doubt  if  he  can  think  yet,"  he  said.  "  I  allow  he  was 
upset  yesterday.  I'd  give  a  dollar  to  see  him  when  he  starts 
to  try  and  buy." 

"  You're  feeling  sure." 

Mallinsbee's  doubt  was  pretty  evident. 

"Sure?  I'm  sure  of  nothing  about  Slosson  except  his 
particular  dislike  of  me,  and,  through  me,  of  you." 

"  Just  so.  And  when  a  man  hates  the  way  he  hates  you, 
if  he's  bright  he'll  try  to  make  things  hum." 

"  He's  bright  all  right,"  allowed  Gordon. 

A  further  diversion  was  created.  Two  men  arrived  in  a 
buckboard,  and  Mallinsbee's  explanation  was  verified. 
They  were  looking  for  information.  It  was  said  the  rail- 
road was  to  boycott  Buffalo  Point.  It  was  said,  even,  that 
they  had  bought  in  Snake's  Fall.  Was  this  so?  And, 


IN  COUNCIL  191 

anyway,  what  was  the  meaning  of  the  rise  in  prices  at  that 
end? 

"  Why,  say,"  finished  up  one  of  the  men,  "  when  I  was 
talking  to  Mason,  the  dry  goods  man,  this  morning,  he  told 
me  there  wasn't  a  speculator  around  who'd  money  enough 
to  buy  his  spare  holdings  in  Snake's.  And  when  I  asked 
him  the  figger  he  said  he  needed  ten  thousand  dollars  for 
two  side  street  plots  and  twenty  thousand  for  two  avenue 
fronts.  He's  crazy,  sure." 

Mallinsbee  shook  his  head. 

"  Not  crazy.     Just  bright." 

When  the  man  had  departed,  and  Mallinsbee  had  removed 
the  patch  from  his  eye,  he  smiled  over  at  Gordon. 

"  Peter's  surely  done  his  work,"  he  said. 

Gordon  warmed  with  enthusiasm.  If  those  were  the 
prices  ruling  Mr.  Slosson  would  have  no  option  but  to  be 
squeezed  between  the  two  interests.  Whatever  his  personal 
feelings,  he  must  make  good  with  his  company.  No  agent, 
unless  he  were  quite  crazy,  would  dare  face  such  prices  for 
his  principals.  j 

"  I  don't  see  that  Slosson's  a  leg  to  stand  on,"  he  cried, 
his  enthusiasm  bubbling.  "  We've  just  got  to  sit  around 
and  wait." 

Mallinsbee  agreed. 

"  Sure.  Sit  around  and  wait,"  he  said,  with  that  baffling 
smile  of  his. 

Gordon  shrugged,  and  bent  over  some  figures  he  had  been 
working  on.  Presently  he  looked  up. 

"How's  Miss  Hazel  this  morning?"  he  inquired  casu- 
ally. He  had  wanted  to  speak  of  her  before,  but  the  mem- 
ory of  her  father's  anger  yesterday  had  restrained  him. 
Now  he  felt  he  was  safe. 


192  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  Just  sore  over  things/'  said  the  old  man,  with  a  sober- 
ing of  the  eyes.  "I  talked  to  her  some  last  night.  She 
guesses  she  owes  you  a  heap,  but  it  ain't  nothing  to  what  I 
owe  you." 

Gordon  flushed.     Then  he  laughed  and  shook  his  head. 

"  No  man  or  woman  owes  me  a  thing  who  gives  me  the 
chance  of  a  scrap,"  he  said. 

The  old  man  smiled. 

"  No,"  he  agreed.  "  With  a  name  like  '  Van  Henslaer  ' 
« — you  ain't  Irish?  " 

"  Descendant  of  the  old  early  Dutch." 

"  Ah.     They  were  scrappers,  too." 

Gordon  nodded  and  went  on  with  his  figures.  So  the 
morning  passed.  It  was  a  waiting  for  developments  which 
both  men  knew  would  not  long  be  delayed.  Mallinsbee 
was  unemotional,  but  Gordon  was  all  on  wires  drawn  to 
great  tension.  The  subtle  warnings  from  Mallinsbee  not 
to  be  too  optimistic  had  left  him  in  a  state  of  doubt.  And 
an  impatience  took  hold  of  him  which  he  found  hard  to 
restrain. 

The  two  men  shared  their  midday  meal.  Mallinsbee 
wanted  to  get  back  to  the  ranch,  but  neither  felt  such  a 
course  to  be  policy  yet.  Besides,  now  that  the  crisis  had 
arrived,  Gordon  was  anxious  to  have  his  superior's  approval 
for  his  next  move.  He  had  taken  a  chance  yesterday. 
Now  he  wanted  to  make  no  mistake. 

The  denouement  came  within  half  an  hour  of  Hip-Lee's 
clearing  of  the  table.  It  came  with  the  sound  of  galloping 
hoofs,  with  the  rush  of  a  horseman  up  to  the  veranda. 

The  two  men  inside  the  office  looked  at  each  other,  and 
Gordon  rose  and  dashed  at  the  window. 

"  It's  McSwain,"  he  said,  and  returned  to  the  haven  of 


IN  COUNCIL  193 

his  seat  behind  his  desk.  His  announcement  had  been  cool 
enough,  but  his  heart  was  hammering  against  his  ribs. 

"  Then  I  guess  things  are  going  queer/'  said  the  rancher 
pessimistically. 

Gordon  was  about  to  reply  when  the  door  was  abruptly 
thrust  open,  and  the  hot  face  and  hotter  eyes  of  Peter  ap- 
peared in  the  doorway. 

"Well?" 

For  the  life  of  him  Gordon  could  not  have  withheld  that 
sharp,  nervous  inquiry. 

McSwain  came  right  into  the  room  and  drew  the  door 
closed  after  him.  Quite  suddenly  his  eyes  began  to  smile  in 
that  fashion  which  so  expresses  chagrin.  He  flung  his  hat 
on  Gordon's  desk  and  sat  himself  on  the  corner  of  it.  Then 
he  deliberately  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  I'm  as  worried  as  a  cat  goin'  to  have  kittens,"  he  said. 
"  That  feller  Slosson's  beat  us.  Maybe  he's  stark,  starin' 
crazy,  maybe  he  ain't.  Anyways  he  came  right  along  to 
me  this  morning  with  a  face  like  chewed  up  dogs'  meat, 
with  a  limp  on  him  that  'ud  ha'  made  the  fortune  of  a 
tramp,  and  a  mitt  all  doped  up  with  a  dry  goods  store  o' 
cotton-batten,  and  asked  me  the  price  of  my  holdings  in 
Snake's.  I  guessed  I  wasn't  selling  my  hotel  lot,  but  I'd 
two  Main  Street  frontages  that  were  worth  ten  thousand 
dollars  each,  and  a  few  other  bits  going  at  the  waste  ground 
price  of  five  thousand  each." 

"Well?" 

This  time  it  was  Mallinsbee's  inquiry. 

"  He  closed  the  deal  for  his  company,  and  planted  the 
deposit." 

"He  closed  the  deal?"  cried  Gordon  thickly,  all  his 
dreams  of  the  future  tumbling  about  his  ears. 


i94  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"Why,  yes."  McSwain  regarded  the  younger  man's 
hopelessly  staring  eyes  for  one  brief  moment.  Then  he 
went  on :  "I  was  only  the  first.  This  was  after  dinner. 
Say,  in  half  an  hour  he's  put  his  company  in  at  Snake's  to 
the  tune  of  nearly  a  quarter  million  dollars.  He's  mad. 
They'll  fire  him.  They'll  repudiate  the  whole  outfit.  I  tell 
you  he  never  squealed  at  any  old  price.  He's  beat  our  play 
here.  But  how  do  we  stand  up  there  ?  A  crazy  man  comes 
along  and  makes  deals  which  no  corporation  in  the  world 
would  stand  for.  There  ain't  a  site  in  Snake's  worth 
more'n  a  hundred  dollars  to  a  railroad  who's  got  to  boom 
a  place.  Well,  if  his  corporation  turns  him  down,  how  do 
we  stand?  Are  they  goin'  to  pay?  No,  sir;  not  on  your 
life." 

"  They'll  have  to  stand  it,"  said  Mallinsbee. 

"  They'll  try  and  fight  it,"  retorted  Peter  hotly. 

"  And  you  can't  graft  the  courts  like  a  railroad  can,"  put 
in  Gordon  quickly. 

"  They'll  have  to  stand  it,"  repeated  Mallinsbee  dog- 
gedly. "  An'  I'll  tell  you  how.  Maybe  Slosson's  crazy. 
Maybe  he's  crazy  to  beat  us,  an'  I  allow  he's  not  without 
reason  for  doin'  it  —  now.  But  it  would  cost  the  railroad 
a  big  pile  to  shift  that  depot  here.  It  would  have  been  bet- 
ter for  them  in  the  end.  You  see,  they'd  have  got  their 
holdings  in  the  township  here  for  pretty  well  nix,  and  so 
they  wouldn't  have  felt  the  cost  of  the  depot.  The  city 
would  have  paid  that,  as  well  as  other  old  profits.  Anyway, 
the  capital  would  have  had  to  be  laid  out.  In  Snake's  they 
are  laying  out  capital  in  their  holdings  only.  They'll  get  it 
back  all  right,  all  right  —  and  profits.  Slosson's  relying  on 
making  up  their  leeway  for  them  in  the  boom.  He's  takin' 
that  chance,  because  he's  crazy  to  beat  —  us." 


IN  COUNCIL  195 

"  And  he's  done  it,"  said  Gordon  sharply. 

"  Yep.     He's  done  it,"  muttered  McSwain  regretfully. 

"  He  surely  has,"  agreed  Mallinsbee,  without  emotion. 

Gordon  was  the  only  one  of  the  trio  who  appeared  to  be 
,  depressed.  McSwain  had  the  consolation  of  getting  his 
profit  in  Snake's  Fall.  The  only  sense  in  which  he  was  a 
loser  was  that  his  holdings  in  Buffalo  Point  were  larger  than 
in  the  other  place.  Therefore  he  was  able  to  regard  the 
matter  more  calmly,  in  the  light  of  the  fortunes  of  war. 
Mallinsbee,  who  had  staked  all  his  hopes  on  Buffalo  Point, 
seemed  utterly  unaffected. 

A  few  minutes  later  McSwain  hurried  away  for  the  pur- 
pose of  watching  further  developments,  promising  to  return 
in  the  "evening  and  report.  Neither  he  nor  Gordon  felt  that 
there  was  the  least  hope  whatever.  Mallinsbee  offered  no 
opinion. 

When  Peter  had  ridden  off,  and  the  two  men  were  left 
alone,  Gordon,  weighed  down  with  his  failure,  began  to 
give  expression  to  his  feelings. 

He  looked  over  at  the  strong  face  of  his  benefactor,  and 
took  his  courage  in  both  hands. 

"  Mr.  Mallinsbee,"  he  said  diffidently,  "  I  want  to  tell  you 
something  of  what  I  feel  at  the  way  things  have  gone 
through  —  my  failure.  I " 

Mallinsbee  had  thrust  his  fingers  into  his  waistcoat 
pocket,  and  now  drew  forth  a  cigar. 

"  Say,  have  a  smoke,  boy,"  he  said,  in  his  blunt,  kindly 
fashion.  "  That's  a  dollar  an'  a  half  smoke,"  he  went  on, 
"  an'  I  brought  two  of  'em  over  from  the  ranch  to  celebrate 
on.  Guess  we  best  celebrate  right  now." 

It  was  a  doleful  smile  which  looked  back  at  the  rancher 
as  Gordon  accepted  the  proffered  cigar. 


196  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 


But  I 


"  Say,  don't  bite  the  end  off,"  interrupted  Mallinsbee. 
"  Here's  a  piercer." 

"  Thanks.     But  you  must  let " 

"  I'll  be  mighty  glad  to  have  a  light,"  the  other  went  on 
hastily. 

Gordon  was  thus  forced  to  silence,  and  Mallinsbee  con- 
tinued. 

"  Say,  boy,"  he  said,  as  he  settled  himself  comfortably  to 
enjoy  his  expensive  cigar,  "  a  business  life  is  just  the  only 
thing  better  than  ranching,  I'm  beginning  to  guess.  You 
got  to  figure  on  things  this  way :  ranching  you  got  so  many 
hands  around,  so  much  grazin',  so  many  cattle.  Your  only 
enemy  is  disease.  So  many  head  of  cows  will  produce  so 
many  calves,  and  Nature  does  the  rest.  That's  ranching  in 
a  kind  of  outline  which  sort  of  reduces  it  to  a  question  of 
figures  which  it  wouldn't  need  a  trick  reckoner  to  work  out. 
Now  business  is  diff'rent.  Ther's  always  the  other  feller, 
and  you  'most  always  feel  he's  brighter  than  you.  But  he 
ain't.  He's  just  figurin'  the  same  way  at  his  end  of  the 
deal.  So,  you  see,  the  real  principles  of  commerce  aren't 
dependent  on  the  things  you  got  and  Nature,  same  as  ranch- 
ing. Your  assets  ain't  worth  the  paper  they're  written  on 
-till  you've  got  your  man  where  you  want  him.  Now, 
to  do  that  you  got  to  ferget  you  ever  were  born  honest. 
You've  just  got  one  object  in  life,  and  that  is  to  get  the 
other  feller  where  you  want  him.  It  don't  matter  how  you 
do  it,  short  of  murder.  If  you  succeed,  folks' 11  shout  an' 
say  what  a  bright  boy  you  are.  If  you  fail  they'll  say  you're 
a  mutt.  The  whole  thing's  a  play  there  ain't  no  rules  to 
except  those  the  p'lice  handle,  and  even  they  don't  count 
when  your  assets  are  plenty.  You'll  hear  folks  shouting 


IN  COUNCIL  197 

at  revival  meetings,  an'  psalm-smitin'  around  their  city 
churches.  You'll  hear  them  brag  honesty  an'  righteousness 
till  you  feel  you're  a  worse  sinner  than  ever  was  found  in 
the  Bible.  You'll  have  'em  come  an'  look  you  in  the  eye 
and  swear  to  truth,  and  every  other  old  play  invented  to 
allay  suspicions.  And  all  the  time  it's  a  great  big  bluff  for 
them  to  get  you  where  they  want  you.  An'  that's  why  the 
game's  worth  playing  —  even  when  you're  beat.  If  busi- 
ness was  dead  straight;  if  you  could  stake  your  all  on  a 
man's  word;  if  ther'  weren't  a  man  who  would  take  graft; 
if  you  didn't  know  the  other  feller  was  yearning  to  handle 
your  wad  —  why,  the  game  wouldn't  be  a  circumstance  to 
ranching." 

"  That  sounds  pretty  cynical,"  protested  Gordon.  He, 
too,  was  smoking,  but  the  failure  of  his  scheme  left  him 
unsmiling. 

"  It's  the  truth.  We  were  trying  to  get  Slosson  where 
we  wanted  him.  He's  doing  the  same  by  us.  So  far  he 
seems  to  monopolize  most  of  the  advantage.  The  question 
remaining  to  us  now  —  and  it's  the  only  one  of  interest  from 
our  end  of  the  line  —  is :  Will  the  President  of  the  Union 
Grayling  and  Ukataw  Railroad  do  as  I  think  he  will  —  back 
his  agent's  play?  Will  he  stand  for  his  crazy  buying? 
Will  he  fall  for  Slosson's  game  to  get  us  where  he  wants 
us?  I  believe  he  will,  but  we  can't  be  dead  certain.  Our 
only  chance  is  to  try  and  make  it  so  he  won't  —  even  if 
the  Snake's  boys  lose  their  stuff  up  there." 

Gordon  was  sitting  up.  His  cigar  was  removed  from 
the  corner  of  his  mouth  and  held  poised  over  an  ash-tray. 
There  was  a  sharp  look  of  inquiry  in  his  eyes. 

"  What's  the  President  of  the  Union  Grayling  and  Uka- 
taw Railroad  got  to  do  with  it?"  he  demanded  quickly. 


198  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

The  rancher  raised  his  heavy  brows. 

"  This  is  a  branch  of  his  road,  I  guess." 

"A  —  a  branch  ?  "     Gordon's  breath  was  coming  rapidly. 

"  Sure.  You  see,  it's  a  branch  linking  up  with  the  South- 
ern Trunk  route.  It  runs  into  the  Grayling  line  where  it 
enters  the  Rockies.  That's  how  you  make  the  coast  this 
way." 

"And  this  —  is  part  of  the  Union  Grayling  system?" 
Gordon  persisted,  his  blue  eyes  getting  bigger  and  bigger 
with  excitement. 

"  Sure,"  nodded  Mallinsbee,  watching  him  closely. 

Then  the  explosion  came.  Gordon  could  contain  him- 
self no  longer.  He  flung  his  newly  lit  dollar-and-a-half 
cigar  on  the  floor  with  all  the  force  of  pent  feelings  and 
leaped  to  his  feet. 

"  Great  Scott !  "  he  cried.  "  The  President  of  that  road 
is  my  father! " 

"  Eh  ?  "  Then,  without  another  sign,  M'allinsbee  pointed 
reproachfully  at  the  fallen  cigar.  "  It  cost  a  dollar  an'  a 
ha'f,  boy." 

But  Gordon  was  beside  himself  with  excitement.  A 
great  flash  of  light  and  hope  was  shining  through  his  recent 
mental  darkness.  It  didn't  matter  to  him  at  that  moment 
if  the  cigar  had  cost  a  thousand  dollars. 

"But  —  but  don't  you  understand?"  he  almost  yelled. 
"  The  President  of  the  Union  Grayling  and  Ukataw  is  my 
—  father." 

"  James  Carbhoy." 

"Yes,  yes.  My  name's  Gordon  Van  Henslaer  Carb- 
hoy." 

Then  quite  suddenly  Gordon  sat  down  and  began  to 
laugh.  Then  he  stooped  and  picked  up  his  cigar.  He  was 


IN  COUNCIL  199 

still  laughing,  while  he  carefully  wiped  the  dust  from  the 
cigar's  moistened  end. 

"  James  Carbhoy's  your —  father?  " 

Mallinsbee  was  no  longer  disturbed  at  the  waste  of  the 
cigar.  All  his  attention  was  fixed  on  that  laughing  face 
in  front  of  him. 

Gordon  nodded  delightedly,  while  he  once  more  thrust 
his  cigar  into  the  corner  of  his  mouth. 

"You're  thinkin'  something?" 

Mallinsbee  was  becoming  infected  by  the  other's  manner. 

"  Sure  I  am."  Gordon  nodded.  "  I'm  thinking  a  heap. 
Say,  the  fight  has  shifted  its  battle-ground.  It's  only  just 
going  to  begin.  Gee,  if  I'd  only  thought  of  it  before !  The 
Union  Grayling  and  Ukataw !  It's  fate.  Say,  it  isn't  Slos- 
son  any  longer.  It's  son  and  father.  I've  got  to  scrap  the 
old  dad.  Gee!  It's  colossal.  Say,  can  you  beat  it?  I've 
got  to  make  my  little  pile  out  of  my  old  dad.  And- 
he  sent  me  out  to  make  it  and  show  him  what  I  could 
do." 

"  But  how'?     I  don't  just  see- 

"How?     How?" 

Gordon's  laughing  eyes  sobered.  He  suddenly  realized 
that  he  had  only  considered  the  humorous  side  of  the  posi- 
tion. His  brain  began  to  work  at  express  speed.  How 
was  he  to  turn  this  thing  to  account?  How?  Yes  — 
how? 

Mallinsbee  watched  him  for  many  silent  minutes.  And 
during  those  minutes  scheme  after  scheme,  each  one  more 
wild  than  its  predecessor,  flashed  through  Gordon's  brain. 
None  of  them  suggested  any  sane  possibility.  He  knew  he 
was  up  against  one  of  the  most  brilliant  financiers  of  the 
country,  who,  in  a  matter  like  this,  would  regard  his  own 


200  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

son  simply  as  "  the  other   feller."     He  must  trick  him. 
But  how  ?     How  ? 

For  a  long  time,  in  spite  of  his  excited  delight,  Gordon 
saw  no  glamour  of  a  hope  of  dealing  successfully  with  his 
father.  Then  all  in  a  flash  he  remembered  something.  He 
remembered  he  still  had  his  father's  private  code  book  with 
him.  He  remembered  Slosson.  If  Slosson  could  only  be 
—  silenced. 

In  a  moment  he  was  on  his  feet  again. 

"I've  got  it!"  he  cried  exultantly.  "  I've  got  it,  Mr. 
Mallinsbee!  You  said  that  it  didn't  matter,  short  of  mur- 
der, how  we  got  the  other  feller  where  we  needed  him. 
Will  you  come  in  on  the  wildest,  most  crazy  scheme  you 
ever  heard  of?  We  can  beat  the  game,  and  we'll  take 
money  for  nothing.  We  can  make  my  dad  build  the  depot 
right  here  and  scrap  Snake's  Fall.  We  can  make  him- 
and  without  any  murder.  Will  you  come  in?  " 

"  In  what  ?  "  demanded  a  girlish  voice  from  the  veranda 
doorway. 

Gordon  swung  round,  and  Mallinsbee  turned  his  smiling, 
twinkling  eyes  upon  his  daughter,  who  had  arrived  all  un- 
noticed. 

"  It's  a  scheme  he's  got  to  beat  his  father,  gal,"  laughed 
Mallinsbee  in  a  deep-throated  chuckle. 

"His  father?"  Hazel  turned  her  smiling,  inquiring 
eyes  upon  the  man  who  had  rescued  her  yesterday. 

"  Yes,  James  Carbhoy,"  said  her  father,  "  the  President 
of  this  railroad." 

Hazel's  eyes  widened,  and  their  smile  died  out. 

"  Your  father  —  the  —  millionaire  —  James  Carbhoy  ?  " 
she  said.  And  her  note  of  regret  must  have  been  plain  to 
anybody  less  excited  than  Gordon. 


IN  COUNCIL  201 

But  Gordon  was  beyond  all  observation  of  such  subtle 
inflections.  He  was  obsessed  with  his  wild  scheme.  He 
started  forward.  Walking  past  Hazel,  he  closed  and  locked 
the  door.  Then  with  alert  eyes  he  glanced  at  the  window. 
It  was  open.  He  shut  it  and  secured  it.  Then  he  set  a 
chair  for  Hazel  close  beside  her  father,  and  finally  brought 
his  own  chair  round  and  sat  himself  down  facing  them. 

"  Listen  to  me,  and  I'll  tell  you,"  he  grinned,  his  whole 
body  throbbing  with  a  joyous  humor.  "  We're  going  to 
get  the  other  feller  where  we  need  him,  and  that  other  fel- 
ler is  my  —  dear  —  old  —  Dad !  " 


CHAPTER  XVI 

SOMETHING  DOING 

During  the  next  two  or  three  days  the  entire  atmosphere 
of  Snake's  Fall  underwent  a  significant  change.  All  doubt 
had  been  set  at  rest.  The  whole  problem  of  the  future 
boom  was  solved,  and  D'avid  Slosson  received  as  much  hom- 
age in  the  conversation  of  the  general  run  of  the  citizens 
as  though  he  were  the  victorious  general  in  a  military  cam- 
paign. The  lesser  people,  who  would  receive  the  most 
benefit  from  the  coming  boom,  regarded  him  with  wide-eyed 
wonder  at  the  stupendous  nature  of  the  wildly  exaggerated 
reports  of  his  dealings  in  land.  They  saw  in  him  a  Na- 
poleon of  finance,  and  remembered  that  their  concerns  were 
vastly  more  valuable  through  his  operations. 

Men  of  maturer  business  instincts  withheld  their  judg- 
ment and  contented  themselves  with  a  rather  dazed  wonder. 
Others,  those  who  had  actually  and  already  profited  by  his 
preliminary  deals,  chuckled  softly  to  themselves,  rubbed 
their  hands  gently,  pocketed  his  paper  and  deposit  money, 
and  wrote  him  down  "  plumb  crazy."  But  even  so,  there 
was  a  sober  watchfulness  as  to  the  next  movements  in  the 
approaching  boom.  Those  who  were  the  farthest  seeing 
kept  an  eye  wide  open  on  Buffalo  Point.  So  far  as  they 
could  see  it  was  not  possible  for  the  Buffalo  Point  interests 
to  go  under  without  a  "  kick."  When  would  that  "  kick  " 
come,  and  where  would  it  be  delivered  ? 


SOMETHING  DOING  203 

As  for  David  Slosson,  after  his  first  effort,  which  had 
been  the  deciding  factor  in  the  future  of  Snake's  Fall,  he 
remained  unapproachable.  He  was  living  at  Peter  Mc- 
Swain's  hotel,  and  occupied  a  bedroom  and  parlor,  which 
latter  served  him  as  an  office.  Here  he  remained  more  or 
less  invisible,  possibly  while  his  disfigured  features  under- 
went the  process  of  mending,  possibly  nursing  his  wrath 
and  plotting  developments  against  the  object  of  it.  There 
was  even  another  possible  explanation.  Maybe  the  plunge 
into  the  land  market  he  had  taken  needed  a  great  concen- 
tration of  effort  to  completely  manipulate  it.  Whatever  it 
was,  very  little  of  the  railroad  company's  agent  was  seen 
after  his  first  setting  defiant  foot  into  the  arena  of  affairs. 

Me  Swain  was  more  than  interested.  The  hotel-keeper 
seemed  to  have  become  obsessed  with  the  idea  that  David 
Slosson  was  the  only  creature  worth  regarding  on  the  face 
of  the  earth.  This  was  after  he,  Peter,  had  spent  the  even- 
ing of  that  memorable  first  day  of  real  movement,  in  the 
company  of  Silas  Mallinsbee  and  Gordon,  out  at  the  office 
at  Buffalo  Point. 

Peter  McSwain  had  always  been  an  attentive  landlord  in 
his  business,  now  he  had  suddenly  become  even  more  so, 
especially  to  David  Slosson.  There  was  not  a  single  re- 
quirement that  the  agent  could  conceive,  but  Peter  was  on 
hand  to  supply  it.  He  was  more  or  less  at  his  elbow  the 
whole  time. 

Then,  too,  Mike  Callahan  became  a  frequenter  of  the 
hotel,  and  even  boarded  there.  Furthermore,  a  wonderful 
friendliness  between  him  and  Peter  sprang  up,  which  was 
so  marked  that  the  townspeople  saw  in  it  a  combination  of 
forces  possibly  foreshadowing  the  inauguration  of  a  great 
hotel  enterprise  under  their  joint  control.  This  also  was 


204  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

after  that  first  evening,  when  Mike  Callahan  had  also 
formed  one  of  the  party  at  the  office  at  Buffalo  Point. 

Another  point  of  interest,  had  it  been  noticeable  by  the 
more  curious  and  interested  of  the  frequenters  of  the  hotel, 
was,  that  at  any  time  that  Peter  Me  Swain  found  it  neces- 
sary to  absent  himself  from  the  hotel,  Mike  was  always 
found  in  his  place  superintending  the  running  of  the  es- 
tablishment. 

However,  these  small  details  were  merely  an  added  puff 
of  wind  to  the  breath  of  general  excitement  prevailing. 
The  one  thought  in  the  place  seemed  to  be  of  those  prepara- 
tions necessary  for  the  boom.  Already  certain  contracts, 
long  since  prepared  for  such  a  happening,  were  put  into 
operation.  A  number  of  buildings  were  started,  or  pre- 
pared to  start.  The  news  had  been  sent  broadcast  by  inter- 
ested citizens,  and  a  fresh  influx  of  people  began  and  heavy 
orders  from  the  various  traders  were  placed  with  the  whole- 
salers in  the  East. 

David  Slosson  in  his  quarters  was  made  aware  of  these 
things,  but  somehow  they  raised  small  enough  enthusiasm 
in  him.  Truth  to  tell,  he  was  far  too  deeply  concerned 
with  the  subtleties  of  his  own  affairs.  His  course  of  action 
had  not  been  the  wild  plunge  which  Peter  McSwain  had 
suggested.  On  the  contrary,  such  was  his  venomous  nature 
that  he  had  pitted  his  own  abilities  and  fortune  against  the 
Buffalo  Point  interests  in  a  carefully  calculated  scheme. 

For  years  he  had  been  engaged  in  every  corner  of  the 
United  States  and  Canada  in  such  work  as  he  was  now 
doing.  In  the  process  of  such  work,  by  methods  of  un- 
scrupulous grafting  and  blackmail  he  had  contrived  a  for- 
tune of  no  inconsiderable  amount.  So  that  now  he  was  no 
ordinary  agent.  He  was  a  "  representative  "  of  the  inter- 


SOMETHING  DOING  205 

ests  he  worked  for.  In  his  case  the  distinction  was  a  nice 
one. 

As  the  result  of  his  encounter  with  Gordon  he  had  re- 
solved upon  the  crushing  defeat  of  his  adversaries  by  hurl- 
ing the  entire  weight  of  his  personal  fortune  into  the  scale. 
True  enough  he  had  bought  without  regard  to  price.  He 
bought  all  he  could  in  the  best  positions,  and  even  in  the 
quarters  which  would  not  meet  with  the  railroad's  approval. 
So  his  purchases  had  to  be  far  greater,  both  in  extent  and 
price,  than  in  the  ordinary  way  he  would  have  made  at 
Buffalo  Point. 

Having  thus  bought,  and  thrown  his  own  money  into  the 
affair,  this  was  his  plan  of  dealing  with  the  matter.  First, 
he  knew  this  boom  was  based  on  sound  foundations.  The 
future  was  assured  by  the  vast  coal-fields  just  opening  up. 
The  Bude  and  Sideley  Coal  Company  was  only  the  first. 
There  would  be  others,  many  of  them.  With  the  railroad 
depot  at  Snake's  Fall,  the  whole  of  the  outlying  positions 
of  the  city  would  boom  with  the  rest.  Any  land  round  it 
would  be  of  enormous  value.  So  he  purchased  in  every 
direction.  He  bought  at  "  skied  "  prices  from  the  big  hold- 
ers, so  that  the  railroad  should  be  satisfied  as  to  positions, 
and  he  bought  largely  in  the  outlying  parts  of  the  city  where 
no  "  skied  "  prices  could  rule.  Then  he  pooled  the  price 
which  he  knew  the  railroad  would  pay,  with  his  own  for- 
tune to  pay  the  whole  bill,  put  the  railroad  in  on  the  best 
sites  at  their  own  price,  and  held  the  balance  of  his  pur- 
chases for  himself. 

It  was  his  only  means  of  justifying  to  his  principals  his 
declining  to  accept  Buffalo  Point's  terms,  and  though  it 
meant  locking  up  his  available  capital  in  Snake's  Fall,  he 
knew,  in  the  end,  he  would  recoup  himself  with  added  for- 


206  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

tune,  and  have  wrecked  those  who  had  rejected  his  black- 
mail, and  added  to  their  audacity  by  personal  assault.  It 
pleased  him  to  think  that  Hazel  Mallinsbee  would  also  be 
made  to  suffer  for  what  he  considered  her  outrageous  treat- 
ment of  himself. 

His  method  was  certainly  Napoleonic,  and  for  its  very 
audacity  it  should  succeed.  As  he  reviewed  his  position  he 
could  find  no  appreciable  flaws.  If  the  coal  were  there  the 
place  must  boom,  and  —  he  knew  the  coal  was  there. 

So  he  was  satisfied. 

Five  days  after  making  his  first  deal,  those  deals  which 
had  inspired  so  much  derision,  his  whole  operations  were 
completed.  He  was  feeling  contented.  It  had  been  a 
strenuous  time,  and  had  demanded  every  ounce  of  energy 
and  commercial  acumen  he  possessed  to  complete  the  work. 
He  knew  that  his  whole  future  was  at  stake,  but  he  also 
knew  that  he  held  the  four  aces  which  would  be  the  finally 
deciding  factors  in  the  game.  He  felt  free  at  last  to  notify 
the  President  of  the  Union  Grayling  and  Ukataw  Railroad 
of  his  transactions,  and  was  confident  of  that  shrewd  finan- 
cier's approval  and  felicitations.  Nor  were  the  latter  the 
least  desirable  in  his  estimation. 

He  had  already  dined  in  his  parlor,  as  had  been  his  cus- 
tom since  his  encounter  with  Gordon.  But  now  he  in- 
tended to  move  abroad.  He  felt  himself  to  be  the  arbiter 
of  the  fate  of  these  "  rubes,"  as  he  characterized  the  citi- 
zens of  Snake's  Fall,  and  he  did  not  see  the  necessity  for 
denying  himself  the  adulation  such  a  position  entitled 
him  to. 

With  a  self-satisfied  feeling  he  picked  up  a  long  code 
message  he  had  written  out  and  thrust  it  in  his  pocket. 
Then,  carefully  putting  away  all  other  private  papers  into 


SOMETHING  DOING  207 

his  dressing-case,  and  locking  it,  he  sauntered  leisurely  out 
of  his  room. 

He  intended  to  give  himself  his  first  breathing  space  for 
five  days,  and  he  lounged  downstairs  to  the  hotel  office. 

Sure  enough,  the  first  person  he  encountered  was  Peter 
McSwain.  The  man  looked  hot,  but  then  he  always  looked 
hot.  His  smile  of  welcome  was  almost  servile,  and  David 
Slosson  felt  pleased  at  the  sign. 

The  consequence  was,  his  manner  promptly  became  some- 
thing more  than  autocratic.  There  was  a  domineering  note 
in  his  voice,  and  a  cool  insolence  in  his  regard  of  his  host. 
Peter  remained  quite  undisturbed.  His  mind  went  back  to 
the  scene  in  the  office  at  Buffalo  Point  on  the  eventful  first 
evening,  and  an  even  greater  servility  beamed  out  of  his 
hot  eyes. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  cried,  in  answer  to  Slosson's  inquiry  as 
to  the  movements  in  the  town.  "  Movements  ?  Why,  I'd 
sure  say  you've  set  this  place  jumping  as  though  you'd 
opened  up  an  earthquake  under  it.  I  tell  you  frankly,  Mr. 
Slosson,  sir,  we  been  waitin'  days  and  days  with  our  eyes  on 
you  for  a  lead.  I  don't  guess  it  means  a  thing  to  a  gentle- 
man like  you,  but  if  you'd  been  a  sort  o'  cock  angel  right 
down  from  the  clouds  on  an  aeroplane  you  couldn't  ha' 
been  blessed  more'n  the  folks  right  here  have  been  blessin' 
your  name  these  last  days,  since  you  outed  that  bum  outfit 
down  at  Buffalo  Point." 

"  They're  a  pretty  rotten  crowd,"  agreed  Slosson,  well 
enough  pleased.  "  Though  I  say  it,  it  takes  a  man  of  ex- 
perience to  handle  a  crowd  like  that.  They're  sheer  black- 
mailers, but  I  don't  stand  for  a  thing  like  that.  You  see, 
our  play  is  to  serve  the  public  right.  Well,  seeing  Snake's 
Fall  is  a  straight  proposition  I  guess  I  had  to  treat  'em 


208  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

right.  I  figure  I  put  a  heap  of  dollars  in  the  way  of  Snake's 
Fall.  You  won't  do  so  bad  yourself  ?  " 

Peter  smiled  amiably. 

"  I  can't  kick." 

"Kick?"  Slosson's  eyes  widened.  "Guess  you  ought 
to  get  right  on  your  knees,  and  thank  —  me."  Then  he 
laughed.  "  Say,  maybe  you'll  start  putting  up  a  —  real 
hotel." 

His  contempt  was  marked  as  he  let  his  glance  wander 
over  his  simple  and  primitive  surroundings.  Peter  took  no 
sort  of  umbrage. 

"  Well,  that  was  how  I  was  figurin'.  Y'see  I  got  to  be 
first  in  that  line.  Since  you  downed  Mallinsbee's  crowd  of 
crooks,  why,  it's  going  to  make  things  easy.  Say,  you 
don't  figure  to  sink  dollars  that  way  yourself?  Maybe  you 
could  get  right  in  on  the  ground  floor." 

His  cordial  tone  pleased  the  agent,  but  he  pretended  to 
consider  the  matter  too  small  for  his  participation. 

"  I'd  need  a  big  holding,"  he  laughed.  "  I  ain't  time  for 
one-hossed  shows.  Still,  I  thank  you  for  the  offer.  Guess 
the  Mallinsbee  crowd  are  kicking  'emselves  to  death. 
What?" 

Peter  nodded  impressively,  and  drew  closer  in  his  con- 
fidence. 

"  Kickin'  ?  That  don't  describe  it.  They  deserve  it,  too. 
They  kep'  us  dancing  around  guessin'  with  their  patch  of 
grazin'.  Say,  this  town  owes  you  a  big  heap,  an'  I'm  glad. 
There's  one  thing  owin'  a  real  smart  gent  like  you,  Mr.  Slos- 
son,  sir,  an'  quite  another  owin'  a  crowd  of  crooks  like 
Mallinsbee's.  This  town  ain't  likely  to  forget.  There's 
things  like  testimonials  around,  sir,"  he  added,  winking  sig- 
nificantly, "  and  when  a  city's  making  a  big  pile  through  a 


SOMETHING  DOING  209 

man,  testimonials  are  like  to  take  on  a  mighty  handsome 
shape." 

Slosson  grinned. 

"  I  shouldn't  discourage  'em/'  he  said  pleasantly.  "  The 
folks  '11  see  where  they  are  in  a  few  days.  Here."  He 
pulled  out  his  long  cypher  message  from  his  pocket,  and  held 
it  out  towards  Peter  triumphantly.  "You  can  read  it  if 
you  like.  You  won't  be  able  to  get  its  meaning,  but  I'll 
tell  you  what  it  is.  It's  to  tell  my  company  to  go  right 
ahead.  They're  in.  That  means  that  Snake's  Fall  is  made, 
sir,  completely  and  finally  made,  and  the  Mallinsbee  ground 
sharks  are  plumb  down  and  out.  And  I'm  glad  to  say  I've 
been  the  means  of  fixing  things  that  way  for  you." 

Peter  took  the  message.  He  took  it  rather  quickly  — 
almost  too  quickly.  He  read  it.  The  words  were  so  much 
gibberish  to  him,  and  it  was  far  too  long  to  remember. 
But  with  a  quick  effort  he  took  in  the  one  word  of  address, 
and  the  first  six  words  of  the  message. 

Then  he  handed  it  back. 

"  Do  you  need  that  sent  off,  sir?  "  he  inquired  easily,  but 
his  heart  was  beating  quickly. 

Slosson  shook  his  head. 

"  Guess  I'll  send  it  myself.  I'm  going  across  to  the  depot 
right  now."  He  folded  up  the  paper.  "  That's  the  sen- 
tence on  the  Buffalo  Point  crooks,  and  its  execution  will 
follow  —  quick." 

"  An'  serve  'em  darned  right,"  cried  Peter  sharply.  "  I 
ain't  time  for  crooks  like  them.  You're  right,  sir.  Don't 
take  chances.  See  that  sent  off  yourself,  sir.  I'm  real 
glad  you  come  along  here.  There'll  be  fortunes  lying 
around  in  your  track,  an'  then  there's  always  them  —  testi- 
monials. Say,  you'll  just  excuse  me,  sir,  but  there's  some 


210  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

all-fired  '  rubes  '  shoutin'   for  drinks  in  the  bar.     I  — 

Slosson  laughed. 

"  Yes,  you  get  right  on.  The  boys  have  money  to  burn 
in  this  city  now.  They'll  have  more  later.  I'll  get  going." 

He  moved  off  and  passed  through  the  crowded  office,  and 
out  of  the  hotel,  while  Peter  dashed  swiftly  into  his  private 
office.  He  went  straight  to  his  desk  and  wrote  on  paper 
all  he  could  remember  of  the  code  message.  Then  he  stood 
up  and  swore  softly  to  himself. 

For  some  moments  he  let  himself  go  at  the  expense  of  the 
man  he  had  just  been  talking  to.  Then  he  became  calmer, 
and  his  face  grew  thoughtful.  Then,  after  awhile,  a  smile 
grew  in  his  hot  eyes,  and  he  murmured  audibly  — 

"  I  wonder.  Steve  Mason's  a  good  boy,  an'  he  don't 
draw  a  big  pile  slamming  the  keys  of  his  instruments  over 
there.  I  wonder." 

After  that  he  left  the  office  and  hurried  out  to  the 
veranda,  and  stood  watching,  in  the  evening  light,  for  the 
figure  of  David  Slosson  leaving  the  telegraph  operator's 
office. 

Gordon  and  Hazel  Mallinsbee  were  riding  amongst  the 
hills.  Gordon  was  on  Sunset,  and  Hazel's  brown  mare  was 
reveling  in  the  joy  of  a  fresh  morning  gallop  through  her 
native  valleys  and  woodlands. 

Ever  since  the  memorable  day  when  he  discovered  that 
Slosson  was  his  father's  agent,  Gordon  had  lived  in  a  state 
of  almost  feverish  delight.  At  his  instigation  they  had 
closed  up  the  office  at  Buffalo  Point,  to  give  color  to  their 
defeat  by  the  agent.  At  his  instigation  they  had  arranged 
many  other  more  or  less  significant  matters.  But  it  had 
been  Mallinsbee's  own  suggestion  that  Gordon  should  take 


SOMETHING  DOING  211 

up  his  abode  at  the  ranch  instead  of  sharing  the  hospitality 
of  Mike  Callahan's  livery  barn  in  Snake's  Fall. 

It  was  a  glorious  summer  day  and  the  mountain  breezes 
came  down  the  hillsides  with  that  refreshing  cool  belonging 
to  the  heights  above.  The  joy  of  living  was  thrilling  both 
of  them  as  they  rode,  and  their  horses,  too,  seemed  to  have 
caught  the  infection.  But  there  was  something  more  than 
the  mere  joy  of  life  and  health  actuating  them  now.  There 
was  an  excitement  such  as  neither  could  have  experienced 
during  those  long,  dull  hours  which,  during  the  past  weeks, 
had  been  spent  in  the  now  closed  office  at  Buffalo  Point. 

They  raced  along  down  a  wide  green  valley  lined  upon 
either  side  by  wood-clad  slopes  of  hills,  which  mounted  up 
towards  the  blue  for  several  hundreds  of  feet.  Ahead  of 
them  shone  the  white  ramparts  of  the  mountain  range. 
They  scintillated  in  the  sunlight,  a  shimmering  wall  of  snow 
and  ice  many  thousands  of  feet  high.  Before  them  lay 
miles  and  miles  of  broken  hills,  rising  higher  and  higher 
as  they  approached  the  ultimate  barrier  of  the  Rockies 
themselves. 

The  riders  were  in  a  perfect  maze  of  valleys,  and  woods, 
and  mountain  streams,  and  hills;  a  maze  from  which  it 
seemed  well-nigh  impossible  to  disentangle  themselves. 
Yet,  with  her  trained  eyes,  and  wonderful  inborn  knowledge 
of  hill-craft,  Hazel  piloted  their  course  without  hesitation, 
without  question.  The  whole  region  was  an  open  book  to 
her  in  the  summer  time.  For  miles  and  miles  through  that 
broken  land  she  knew  every  headland,  every  shadowy  wood, 
every  green  valley  and  gurgling  stream.  As  she  often  told 
Gordon,  it  was  her  world  —  her  home  and  her  world,  it 
belonged  to  her. 

"  But  I  should  lose  myself  in  five  minutes,"  Gordon  pro- 


212  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

tested,  as  they  swung  out  of  the  valley  and  into  a  narrow 
cutting  between  two  sheer-faced  cliffs,  overgrown  with 
scrub  and  small  bush,  which  left  hardly  any  room  for  their 
horses  along  the  banks  of  a  trickling  brook  which  divided 
them. 

"  Surely  you  would,"  Hazel,  who  was  now  in  the  lead, 
called  back  over  her  shoulder.  "  And  I  guess  I  should  just 
as  soon  lose  my  way  in  your  wonderful  New  York.  You 
follow  right  along,  and  I'll  promise  to  bring  you  home  by 
supper."  Then,  with  laughing  anxiety,  "  But  for  goodness' 
sake  don't  lose  our  lunch  out  of  your  saddle  bags.  We'll 
be  starving  after  another  hour  of  this." 

The  warning  startled  Gordon  into  an  apprehensive  sur- 
vey of  his  saddle  bags.  They  were  quite  secure,  however, 
and  he  followed  closely  on  the  mare's  heels. 

Quickly  it  became  apparent  that  they  were  traveling  a 
well-worn  cattle  path  overgrown  by  the  low  scrub.  It  was 
difficult,  but  Hazel  followed  it  unfalteringly.  Half  a  mile 
up  this  narrow,  the  great  facets  of  the  hills  on  either  side 
,  began  to  close  in  on  them,  and  still  further  ahead  Gordon 
discovered  that  they  almost  met  overhead,  the  narrowest 
possible  crack  alone  dividing  them. 

He  was  wondering  in  which  direction  lay  their  way  out 
of  such  a  hopeless  cul-de-sac  when  he  saw  Hazel  suddenly 
bend  her  body  low  over  her  mare's  neck,  and,  at  the  same 
moment,  she  called  back  a  warning  to  him. 

"  'Ware  overhead  rocks !  "  she  cried. 

Gordon  instantly  followed  her  example,  and  kept  close 
behind  her  as  she  entered  a  passage  which  was  practically  a 
tunnel.  Now  their  difficulties  were  increased  tenfold.  The 
tunnel,  in  spite  of  the  narrow  split  in  its  roof,  was  almost 
dark.  The  low  bush  completely  hid  the  track  and  the  little 


SOMETHING  DOING  213 

tumbling  creek  beside  the  path  had  deepened  to  a  six-foot 
cut  bank. 

Gordon  became  troubled.  But  it  was  not  for  himself  so 
much  as  for  Hazel.  His  horse,  Sunset,  was  steady  as  a 
rock,  but  the  brown  mare  ahead  was  as  timid  as  a  kitten. 
He  glanced  anxiously  at  the  figure  of  the  girl.  The 
journey  seemed  not  to  trouble  her  one  bit.  Her  mare, 
too,  considering  her  timidity,  was  wonderfully  steady.  No 
doubt  it  was  the  result  of  perfect  confidence  in  the  clever 
little  creature  on  her  back,  he  thought.  His  gaze  passed 
still  further  ahead.  He  was  looking  for  the  termination  of 
this  mysterious  winding  tunnel.  But  twenty  yards  was  the 
limit  of  his  vision  and,  so  far,  no  end  was  in  sight. 

Suddenly  Hazel's  merry  laugh  came  echoing  back  to 
him. 

"  Say,  isn't  this  a  great  place  ?  "  she  cried.  "  It's  like 
one  of  those  enchanted  lands  you  read  of  in  fairy  books." 
Then  she  added  a  further  warning.  "  Keep  low.  We're 
nearly  through." 

The  horses  scrambled  on  in  the  semi-darkness.  But  for 
Gordon  the  enchantment  of  the  place  was  passing,  and  he 
was  glad  to  know  they  were  nearly  through. 

A  few  minutes  later  he  saw  Hazel  begin  to  straighten 
herself  up  in  the  saddle.  He  followed  her  example  with 
some  caution  and  considerable  relief.  The  roof  was  be- 
coming higher,  so,  too,  was  the  light  increasing.  Gordon 
breathed  a  sigh. 

"  I  don't  know  about  the  lunch,"  he  said.  "  I've  bumped 
the  walls  for  some  considerable  time.  Is  there  much  more 
of  it?" 

But  before  Hazel's  reply  could  reach  him  his  inquiry  was 
answered  by  the  cavern  itself.  All  in  an  instant  they 


214  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

rounded  a  bend  and  a  dazzling  beam  of  sunlight  banished 
the  darkness  and  nearly  blinded  him.  Two  minutes  later 
he  pushed  his  way  through  a  dense  screen  of  willows,  and 
emerged  upon  the  bank  of  a  beautiful,  serene  lake  of  abso- 
lutely transparent,  sunlit  water. 

"  Behold  the  spring  which  is  the  source  of  that  little 
stream,"  cried  Hazel,  indicating  the  lake  spread  out  before 
them.  "  Isn't  it  a  fairy-book  picture  ?  Look  round  you. 
Oh,  say,  I  just  love  it  to  death." 

Gordon  gazed  about  him  in  wonder.  The  lake  was  quite 
small,  but  its  setting  was  as  beautiful  as  any  artist  could 
have  painted  it.  All  around  it,  on  two-thirds  of  its  cir- 
cumference, a  hundred  different  shades  of  green  illumined 
the  wonderful  tangled  vegetation.  He  looked  for  the  place 
from  which  they  had  emerged.  It  was  completely  hidden. 
Gone,  vanished  as  if  by  magic.  All  that  remained  were 
the  great  hills  at  the  back  and  the  wooded  banks  of  the  lake 
at  their  feet. 

He  looked  down  at  the  water.  Clear,  clear ;  it  was  clear 
as  crystal.  Then  he  turned  towards  the  sun,  and  some- 
thing of  the  wonder  of  it  all  thrilled  him.  A  sea,  a  calm, 
unruffled  sea  of  the  greenest  grass  he  had  ever  beheld 
stretched  out  before  him.  Or  was  it  a  broad  river  of  grass  ? 
Yes,  it  was  a  wide  river,  perhaps  two  miles  wide,  with 
great  mountainous  banks  on  either  side.  To  him  they 
seemed  to  be  standing  at  its  source,  and  its  flow  carried  his 
gaze  away  on  towards  the  west,  where,  above  all,  miles  and 
miles  away,  shone  the  white  peaks  of  the  mountains. 

The  banks  of  this  superb  valley  were  deeply  wooded  from 
the  base  to  the  soaring  summits.  Only  were  the  hues  of  the 
foliage  varied.  Right  at  the  foot  the  green  was  bright,  but 
less  bright  than  the  tall  sweet  grass.  While  higher,  the 


HAZEL  WAS  WATTING  FOR  THAT  SIGN 


SOMETHING  DOING  215 

dark  foliage  of  pine  woods  rose  somberly  on  stately  tower- 
ing blackened  trunks. 

At  last  Gordon  turned  back  to  the  girl,  who  had  sat  watch- 
ing the  intent  expression  of  his  face. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said,  and  he  made  a  comprehensive  gesture 
with  one  hand. 

Hazel  was  waiting  only  for  that  sign. 

"Where  we  stand  now  we  are  twenty  miles  from  the 
ranch/'  she  said.  "  The  only  other  outlet  to  this  valley  is 
twenty  miles  further  on  to  the  west.  If  you  could  not  find 
our  secret  passage  again,  you  would  have  to  travel  sixty 
miles  through  the  most  amazing  country  to  get  back 
home." 

"  Sixty  miles  back?  "  Gordon  muttered. 

"  Sure,"  returned  Hazel.  Then  she  laughed.  "  Even 
then,  unless  you'd  been  pretty  well  born  in  these  hills  you'd 
never  find  the  way." 

Gordon  nodded,  and  glanced  in  the  direction  whence  they 
had  come.  There  was  not  a  sign  of  the  tunnel  to  be  seen. 
The  foliage  screen  looked  impenetrable.  He  began  to 
smile. 

"  And  your  cattle  station?"  he  questioned. 

"  Come  on." 

Hazel  turned  her  mare  away,  and  set  off  at  a  brisk  canter. 
She  followed  the  line  of  the  hills  at  the  edge  of  the  wide 
plain  of  sweet  grass. 

Gordon  followed  her,  marveling  at  the  place,  but  more 
still  at  his  guide.  A  quarter  of  an  hour's  gallop  under  the 
shade  of  the  most  amazingly  beautiful  woods  he  ever  re- 
membered to  have  seen,  brought  them  to  a  clearing,  in  the 
midst  of  which  stood  a  smallish  frame  house.  It  was  more 
or  less  surrounded  by  a  number  of  large,  heavy-timbered 


216  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

corrals.  The  whole  place  was  perfectly  hidden  by  the 
screen  of  woods  from  view  of  the  valley  beyond. 

Hazel  leaped  out  of  the  saddle  and  passed  hurriedly  into 
the  house.  Next  minute  she  returned  with  two  picket  ropes. 

"  We'll  picket  them  both  while  we  eat  and  get  a  peek 
around  the  place.  We  aren't  yearning  for  a  twenty-mile 
tramp  back/' 

Gordon  agreed.  He  remained  silent  while  they  off-sad- 
dled and  secured  their  horses  beyond  the  woods  on  the  open 
grass.  He  was  thinking  hard.  He  was  reviewing  the 
purpose  which  had  brought  them  to  this  wonderful  outworld 
hiding-place.  Nor  were  his  thoughts  wholly  free  from 
doubts  and  qualms. 

At  length  the  work  was  done.  Their  saddle  blankets 
were  laid  out  to  dry  in  the  sun,  and  the  saddle  bags  were 
emptied  of  the  ample  lunch  Hazel  had  carefully  pro- 
vided. 

The  girl  was  entirely  mistress  of  the  situation.  Gordon 
felt  his  helplessness  out  here  in  the  secret  heart  of  nature. 

"  Shall  we  eat  first  or ?  "  Hazel  broke  off  question- 

ingly. 

"  Can't  we  look  around  the  house  while  the  kettle  boils?  " 
inquired  Gordon,  looking  up  from  the  fire  he  had  kindled 
after  some  difficulty.  He  was  kneeling  on  the  bare,  dusty 
ground  which  had  been  trodden  by  the  hoofs  of  thousands 
of  cattle  in  the  past. 

The  girl  nodded.  Her  delight  in  being  this  man's  cice- 
rone was  superlative.  This  was  different  from  the  days 
she  had  spent  with  David  Slosson. 

"  Sure.  Come  on,"  she  cried.  "  And  there's  a  well  out 
back  where  we  can  fill  the  kettle." 

They  hurried  off  to  the  well,  and,  between  them,  rather 


SOMETHING  DOING  217 

like  two  children,  they  filled  the  kettle.  Then  they  returned 
and  placed  it  on  the  fire,  and  again  approached  the  house. 

It  was  a  squat,  roomy  structure  of  the  ordinary  frame 
type,  but  it  was  in  perfect  preservation  even  to  its  paint, 
and  Hazel  pointed  this  out  as  they  approached. 

"  You  see  this  was  my  daddy's  first  home/'  she  said. 
"  It's  where  I  was  born."  She  drew  a  deep,  happy  sigh. 
"  I  seem  to  remember  every  stick  of  it.  And  my  daddy, 
why,  he  just  loves  it,  too.  That's  why,  though  we  don't  use 
it  now,  he  has  it  painted  every  year,  and  kept  clean.  You 
see,  when  my  daddy  built  this  for  my  momma  he  hadn't  a 
pile  of  dollars.  It  was  just  all  he  could  afford,  and  he  didn't 
ever  guess  he'd  have  a  great  deal  to  spend  on  a  home.  We 
lived  here  years,  and  our  cattle  grazed  out  in  the  valley  be- 
yond. I  used  to  spend  my  whole  time  on  the  back  of  a  small 
broncho  mare,  chasing  up  and  down  the  hills  and  woods. 
And  that's  how  I  found  that  tunnel  we  came  through.  My, 
but  I  do  love  this  little  place ! " 

"  It's  great,"  agreed  Gordon  warmly.  "  I'd  call  it  a  — 
a  poet's  home." 

The  girl  flung  open  the  front  door  and  led  the  way  in. 
Instantly  Gordon  had  the  surprise  of  his  life.  It  was  fur- 
nished. Completely  and  comfortably  furnished.  What 
was  more,  the  furniture,  though  old,  was  in  perfect  repair, 
and  the  room  looked  as  though  it  had  been  recently 
occupied. 

"  When  you  said  '  disused/  "  Gordon  exclaimed,  "I  —  I 
—  thought  it  would  be  empty." 

The  girl  smiled  a  little  sadly. 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  We  couldn't  forsake  it.  It  would  be 
like  forgetting  my  poor  momma.  No.  The  furniture  and 
things  are  just  as  we  used  them  when  she  was  with  us." 


218  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

She  passed  from  the  parlor  to  the  bedrooms,  and  the 
lean-to  kitchen  and  washhouse.  Everything  was  in  perfect 
order,  except  for  a  slight  dust  which  had  gathered. 

"  You  see,  Hip-Lee  and  one  of  the  choremen  and  I  can 
fix  it  up  in  a  day  ready  for  occupation.  That's  how  my 
daddy  likes  to  have  it.  My  daddy  loved  our  lovely  momma. 
I  don't  guess  he'll  ever  get  over  losing  her."  Then  she 
looked  up,  and  her  shadow  of  sadness  had  gone.  "  Come 
along,"  she  cried.  "  You've  seen  it  all.  So  we'll  just  shut 
it  up  again,  and  get  back  to  our  camp.  I'm  guessing  that 
kettle'll  be  boiled  dry." 

But  the  kettle  was  only  just  on  the  boil,  and  the  girl  made 
the  tea  while  Gordon  set  out  the  food  and  plates.  Then, 
when  all  was  ready,  they  sat  down  to  their  tete-a-tete  picnic 
with  all  the  enjoyment  of  two  children,  but  with  that  be- 
tween them  which  seemed  to  fill  the  whole  air  of  the 
valley  with  an  intoxicating  sense  of  happiness  and 
delight. 

"  And  what  about  that  other  place  —  that  log  and  adobe 
shack  you  told  me  of?"  demanded  Gordon,  taking  his  tea- 
cup from  the  girl's  hand. 

Hazel  laughed. 

"  That's  a  dandy  shack,  full  of  ants  and  crawly  things, 
and  its  roof  leaks  water.  It's  up  on  a  hill  where  the  wind 
just  blows  pneumonia  through  it.  If  I  showed  it  you  I 
sort  of  reckon  you'd  be  scared  to  use  it  for  —  for  any- 
thing." 

Gordon  joined  in  her  laugh. 

"  I  guess  it'll  be  the  real  thing  for  my  job.  Say,  don't 
you  sort  of  feel  like  a  criminal?  I  do."  He  laughed  again 
as  he  passed  the  plate  of  cut  meats  to  his  companion. 

"  Criminals?  "  laughed  Hazel  buoyantly.     "  Why,  I  just 


SOMETHING  DOING  219 

feel  as  if  you  and  my  daddy  and  I  were  all  hanging  by  the 
neck  on  the  highest  peak  of  the  Rockies.  Say,  you're  sure 
—  sure  of  things  ?  " 

"  I  guess  there's  nothing  sure  in  this  world,  except  that 
no  saint  was  ever  a  financial  genius.  Sure  ?  Say,  how  can 
we  be  sure  till  we've  fixed  things  the  way  we  want  'em? 
But  I  tell  you  we've  got  to  make  good.  I  won't  believe  we 
can  fail.  We  mustn't  fail.  If  only  Peter  can  get  hold  of 
Slosson's  messages.  Only  one  will  do.  If  he  can  do  that, 
and  it's  what  I  expect,  why  —  the  whole  thing  becomes  just 
a  practical  joke,  only  not  so  harmful." 

Gordon  attacked  his  food  with  a  healthy  appetite,  and  the 
girl  watched  him  happily. 

"  It's  the  cleverest  thing  ever,"  she  cried,  "  and  —  and  I 
can't  think  how  you  thought  of  it,  and,  having  thought  of 
it  —  dared  to  attempt  to  carry  it  out." 

Gordon  smiled. 

"  I'm  not  clever,  but  —  I  did  think  of  it,  didn't  I  ?  And 
as  to  carrying  it  out,  why,  I  guess  we're  the  same  as  the 
others.  We're  *  sharps.'  We're  land  pirates.  We're 
ground  sharks." 

Hazel  set  her  cup  down. 

"  But  you  are  clever.     I  didn't  mean  it  that  way." 

"  You're  the  first  person  ever  told  me." 

"Am  I?"  Hazel  blushed.  Nor  did  she  know  why. 
Gordon,  watching  her,  sat  entranced. 

"Sure.  Most  everybody  reckons  I'm  just  a  —  a  bit  of 
an  athlete  —  that's  all.  My  sister  Gracie  never  gets  tired 
of  telling  me  what  an  all-sorts-of-fool  I  am." 

"  How  old  is  your  —  Gracie?  " 

"  Thirteen." 

"  That  makes  a  diff'rence." 


220  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  Oh,  she  doesn't  get  it  all  her  own  way,"  laughed  Gor- 
don. "  I  hide  her  chocolates.  That  makes  her  mad. 
She's  a  passion  for  candy.  But  the  old  dad  is  a  bully  feller. 
He's  all  sorts  of  a  sportsman,  and  he  guesses  that  the  best 
day  in  his  life  will  be  the  one  in  which  he  finds  I'm  not  a 
fool." 

Hazel  gurgled  merrily. 

"  That'll  come  along  soon." 

Gordon  nodded. 

"  Gee !  It  makes  me  laugh  to  think  of  it.  But  say,"  he 
went  on,  a  moment  later,  "  I'm  glad  you  don't  think  me  a 

fool.  I'm  just  longing  for "  But  he  broke  off  and 

abruptly  rose  from  the  ground.  Their  meal  was  finished. 
"  Do  we  wash  things  or  do  we  just  pack  'em  up?  " 

"  Oh,  we'll  pack  'em,"  said  Hazel,  rising  hastily.  A  sort 
of  nervous  hurry  was  in  her  movement.  "  We  won't  rob 
the  choreman  and  Hip-Lee  of  their  rights.  Say,  you  bring 
up  the  horses,  and  I'll  pack.  We  can  water  them  at  the  lake 
as  we  pass  out  —  the  horses,  I  mean." 

A  few  minutes  later  Gordon  returned  with  the  horses. 

As  he  rounded  the  bend  in  the  now  overgrown  track, 
which  had  once  formed  the  main  approach  to  the  little 
ranch,  and  caught  sight  of  the  graceful  fawn-clad  figure 
moving  about,  he  stood  for  a  moment  to  feast  his  eyes  upon 
the  picture  the  girl  made.  She  was  all  he  had  ever  dreamed 
of  in  life.  There  was  nothing  of  the  delicate  exotic  here, 
none  of  the  graceful  gowning  of  a  city,  concealing  an  un- 
healthy body  reduced  almost  to  infirmity  by  the  unwhole- 
some night  life  of  modern  social  demands.  She  was  just 
a  living  example  of  the  grace  with  which  Nature  so  readily 
endows  those  who  obey  her  wonderful,  helpful  laws.  The 
perfect  contours,  the  elasticity  of  gait,  the  clear,  keen,  beau- 


SOMETHING  DOING  221 

tiful  eyes,  and  the  pretty  tanning  under  the  shade  of  her 
wide-brimmed  hat. 

The  beating  of  the  man's  heart  quickened.  All  his  feel- 
ings rose,  and  set  him  longing  to  tell  her  all  that  was  in  his 
heart.  He  wanted  then  and  there  to  become  her  champion 
for  all  time.  A  great  passionate  wave  set  the  warm  blood 
of  youth  surging  to  his  head.  He  felt  that  she  belonged 
to  him,  and  him  alone.  Had  he  not  fought  for  her  as  those 
warriors  of  old  would  have  done?  Yes,  somehow  he  felt 
that  she  was  his,  but,  with  a  strange  cowardice,  he  feared 
to  put  his  fate  to  the  test  through  words  which  could  never 
express  half  of  all  he  felt.  He  longed  and  feared,  and  he 
told  himself 

But  Hazel  was  looking  in  his  direction.  She  saw  him 
standing  there,  and  peremptorily  summoned  him  to  her 
presence. 

"  For  goodness'  sake,"  she  cried.  "  Dreaming  when 
there's  work  to  be  done.  Bring  them  right  along,  or  we'll 
never  get  started.  There's  all  twenty  miles  before  sup- 
per." 

Gordon  hurried  forward,  and  as  he  came  up  he  made  his 
excuses. 

"  I  had  to  look,"  he  said  apologetically.  "  You  see  it 
isn't  every  day  a  feller  gets  a  chance  to  see  a  real  picture  - 
like  I've  seen.  Say,  these  hills,  I  guess,  can  hand  all  that 
Nature  can  paint  that  way,  but  you  need  a  human  life  in  it 
to  make  a  picture  real  to  just  an  ordinary  man's  eyes.  I  — 
had  to  look." 

But  Hazel  seemed  to  have  become  suddenly  aware  of 
something  of  that  which  lay  behind  his  words,  and  she 
hastily,  and  with  flushed  cheeks,  turned  to  the  work  of 
saddling  her  horse.  Gordon  attempted  to  help,  but  she 


222  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

laughingly  declined  any  aid.  She  pointed  at  the  saddle  bags 
on  his  saddle. 

"  They're  packed,"  she  said.  "  Say,  I'll  show  you  how 
to  refold  your  blanket.  This  way." 

Gordon  spent  some  delicious  moments  struggling  with  his 
blanket  under  the  girl's  superintendence,  and  his  regret  was 
all  too  genuine  when,  at  last,  it  was  placed  on  Sunset's  back 
with  the  saddle  on  the  top  of  it.  As  for  the  mare,  she  was 
saddled  and  bitted  in  the  time  it  took  him  to  cinch  Sunset 
up.  By  the  time  he  had  adjusted  the  bit  Hazel  was  in  the 
saddle,  gazing  down  at  his  efforts  with  merry,  laughing 
eyes. 

"  It  does  seem  queer,"  she  said.  "  Here  are  you,  big  and 
strong,  and  capable  of  most  anything.  Yet  it  puzzles  you 
around  a  saddle — which  is  so  simple." 

Gordon  climbed  into  his  saddle  at  last,  and  smiled  round 
at  her. 

"  I'm  learning  more  than  I  ever  guessed  I'd  learn  when  I 
left  New  York.  I've  learned  a  heap  of  things,  and  you've 
taught  me  most  of  them.  Sometime  I'll  have  to  tell  you 
all  you've  taught  me,  and  then  —  and  then,  why,  I  guess 
maybe  you'll  wonder."  He  laughed  as  they  moved  off. 
But  somehow  Hazel  kept  her  eyes  averted. 

"  Now  for  the  enchanted  tunnel  again,"  he  cried,  in  a 
less  serious  mood.  "  More  enchantment,  more  delight ! 
And  then  —  then  to  the  serious  criminal  work  we  have  on 
hand.  Criminal.  It  sounds  splendid.  It  sounds  exciting. 
We're  conspirators  of  the  deepest  dye." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE    CODE   BOOK 

It  seemed  as  though  Peter  McSwain  never  did  anything 
without  perspiring.  He  perspired  now  with  the  simple  ef- 
fort of  thought.  But  it  was  a  considerable  effort  and  a 
considerable  thought.  He  crowded  more  of  the  latter  into 
five  minutes,  he  assured  himself,  than  a  bankrupt  Wall 
Street  man  could  have  done  on  the  eve  of  settling  day. 
The  object  of  his  thought  was  the  telegraph  operator  and 
the  subject  of  it  the  interesting  thesis  of  bribery.  Then, 
too,  there  were  the  side  issues,  which  included  David  Slos- 
son,  a  telegraph  message,  and  two  men  waiting  at  the  other 
end  of  things  for  the  result  of  his  share  in  the  proceedings. 

He  made  no  attempt  at  pleasant  conversation  with  the 
row  of  guests  lounging  with  feet  skywards  on  the  shady 
veranda.  For  the  time  at  least  the  affairs  of  his  hotel  were 
quite  secondary.  It  seemed  to  him  just  now  that  these  men 
were  the  misfortunes  of  a  commercial  interest.  They  were 
the  things  that  kept  him  living  concealed  beneath  an  ex- 
terior of  polite  attention  which  he  detested.  He  had  never 
had  a  chance  of  being  his  real  self  until  this  moment. 
There  was  work  of  a  delicate  nature  to  be  performed,  work 
which  was  to  prove  his  ability  in  those  finer  channels  where 
individuality  would  count  and  genuine  cleverness  must  be 
displayed.  A  lot  was  depending  upon  his  capacity. 

This  feeling  inspired  him,  and  the  dew  on  his  forehead 


224  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

became  a  moist  and  shallow  lake  that  was  already  over- 
flowing its  banks.  At  the  end  of  five  minutes,  after  having 
seen  David  Slosson  leave  the  telegraph  office  and  move  off 
down  the  Main  Street,  this  lake  became  a  streaming  torrent 
as  he  left  the  veranda  and  passed  round  to  the  back  of  the 
hotel. 

This  retrograde  movement  was  a  part  of  his  deeply  laid 
plans.  He  had  no  object  in  visiting  either  his  barn  or  his 
kitchens.  The  Chinese  cook  possessed  no  interest  for  him 
at  the  moment,  and  as  for  the  hens  and  the  team  of  horses, 
and  his  lame  choreman  who  tended  them,  they  had  never 
been  farther  from  his  thoughts. 

He  appeared  interested,  however,  and  mopped  his  fore- 
head several  times  as  he  surveyed  the  scene  with  attentive 
eye.  Then  he  passed  on  without  a  word.  Now  his  route 
became  circuitous.  He  walked  a  hundred  yards  away  from 
the  town,  and  appeared  to  be  contemplating  the  open  coun- 
try with  weighty  thoughts  in  his  mind.  Then  he  turned 
away  and  moved  in  another  direction,  towards  the  railroad 
track.  Again  he  paused  with  measuring  eye.  Then  he 
crossed  the  track  and  strode  off  in  a  fresh  direction.  This 
time  he  was  moving  northwards  away  from  the  depot  and 
telegraph  office.  Those  who  now  chanced  to  observe  him 
lost  all  interest  in  his  movements,  and  for  the  time  his  per- 
spiring face  was  forgotten.  By  the  time  he  came  within 
view  of  the  hotel  veranda  again  his  very  existence  had  been 
forgotten  in  the  midst  of  the  busy  talk  of  his  guests.  And 
so  he  was  enabled  to  reach  the  telegraph  office  from  the 
farther  side  without  arousing  comment. 

He  casually  opened  the  door  and  found  himself  standing 
before  the  barrier  of  the  paper-littered  office.  The  operator 
was  at  his  instrument  table  ticking  out  a  message  in  that 


THE  CODE"  BOOK  225 

alert,  concentrated  manner  peculiar  to  all  telegraphists. 
The  man  glanced  round  at  his  visitor  and  continued  his 
work  without  a  sign  of  recognition,  and  the  hotel-keeper 
propped  himself  on  the  counter  and  drew  a  cigar  from  his 
vest  pocket. 

By  the  time  he  had  lit  it  satisfactorily  the  ticking  of  the 
instrument  ceased,  and  a  sigh  of  relief  warned  him  that 
Steve  Mason  was  free.  He  glanced  across  at  the  table  with 
his  hot  eyes  and  a  shadowy  smile. 

"  Busy  these  times,  Steve,"  he  said  genially.  "  The  old 
days  when  we  had  time  to  sit  around  in  this  office  and  yarn 
are  as  far  back  as  the  flood.  Say,  you  ain't  got  paralysis 
of  the  arm  yet?  Maybe  you  work  'em  both.  Hev  a 
smoke?" 

Steve  smiled  wearily. 

"  Don't  you  never  take  on  operatin',  Peter,"  he  said,  ac- 
cepting the  proffered  smoke.  "Thanks.  What's  this? 
One  of  those  '  multiflavums '  of  yours  you  keep  for  drum- 
mers ?  " 

Peter  shook  his  head. 

"  My  own  smokes.  They  match  the  times.  We're  all 
making  fortunes." 

"Are  we?" 

"Well  — ain't  we?" 

"  None  of  it's  come  my  way,"  said  Steve,  lighting  his 
cigar.  "  But  that's  always  the  way.  We  get  shunted  to 
a  bum  town  like  this  on  a  branch,  and  they  pay  us  salary 
according.  If  the  city  makes  a  break  and  gets  busy  and 
we're  nearly  crazy  with  overwork  they  don't  boost  us  up. 
Overwork  don't  mean  overpay,  nor  overtime.  They  ain't 
raised  me  a  dollar.  I'm  going  to  get  right  on  the  buck  if 
things  keep  up.  I  tell  you  I've  eaten  three  meals  in  this 


226  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

office  to-day,  with  my  hand  on  the  key,  and  I  —  I'm  just 
sick  to  death.  I  don't  take  or  send  again  this  night/' 

"  Guess  you'll  be  able  to  make  a  break  when  you  sell  your 
holdings,"  McSwain  went  on  sympathetically.  He  raised 
the  barrier  and  stepped  into  the  office,  and  sat  himself  in  a 
chair  he  had  often  occupied  in  the  unruffled  days  before  the 
coal. 

Steve  laughed  and  sat  himself  on  the  corner  of  his  in- 
strument table. 

"  I  ain't  got  no  holding.  You  can't  buy  land  on  a  hun- 
dred dollars  a  month.  No,  sir.  What  with  the  Chinee 
laundry  and  my  boarding-house,  I  guess  I  need  to  smoke 
your  '  multiflavums '  and  drink  your  worst  rye.  Why,  I 
ain't  got  a  balance  over  to  buy  an  ice-cream-soda  in  win- 
ter." 

"  You  sure  are  badly  staked,"  murmured  Peter. 

They  smoked  in  silence  for  some  moments.  The  atmos- 
phere of  the  little  office  was  opening  the  pores  of  Peter's 
skin  again-. 

"  Say,"  he  went  on  presently,  mopping  his  brow  care- 
fully, "  I  made  quite  a  stake  out  of  that  agent  feller,  Slos- 
son.  Somewheres  around  ten  thousand  dollars.  Quite  a 
piece  of  money,  eh?  I  ain't  sure  he's  a  fool  or  a  pretty 
wise  guy." 

"  He's  the  railroad  man,"  said  Steve  significantly. 

"  Yes.     That  don't  make  him  out  a  fool,  does  it?  " 

"  I'd  smile." 

"  So'd  I  —  if  I  knew  more.  I'd  give  a  hundred  dol- 
lars to  see  what's  to  happen  in  the  next  week  or  so.  I've 
got  a  big  stake  here,  if  the  railroad  don't  shift  the  depot. 
Slosson  says  they  won't  Says  he's  bought  all  he  needs 
right  here  for  his  company.  I  take  it  he's  helped  himself, 


THE  CODE  BOOK  227 

too.  Still,  I'd  like  to  know.  The  boys  back  at  the  hotel 
are  fallin'  right  over  'emselves  to  get  in.  They  reckon 
this  place  is  a  cinch  —  since  Slosson's  bought.  I'd  like  to 
be  sure." 

Steve  laughed.  He  read  through  his  friend's  purpose 
now.  The  visit  was  not,  as  he  told  himself,  for  nothing. 
Peter  was  looking  for  information  which  it  would  be  a 
serious  offense  for  him  to  give  —  if  he  possessed  any, 
which  he  didn't. 

"  Guess  there's  nothing  doing,  Peter,"  he  said  slyly. 

"What  d'you  mean?"  The  hotel-keeper's  eyes  were 
hotter  than  ever.  But  there  was  no  resentment  in 
them. 

"  Why,  I  just  don't  know  a  thing  what  Slosson's  doing. 
And  if  I  did  I  couldn't  tell  you.  It  would  be  a  criminal 
offense.  Slosson  ain't  sent  a  word  over  the  line  since  he 
started  to  buy  metal  until  to-night,  and  the  message  I've 
just  sent  for  him  is  in  code,  so,  as  far  as  I'm  concerned,  it's 
so  much  Greek.  I  don't  know  who  it's  to,  even.  That's 
why  I  guess  there's  nothing  doing." 

"  No  •- —  I  s'pose  not.  I  s'pose  codes  can  be  read, 
though?  There's  experts  who  worry  out  any  old  code. 
Guess  it's  mighty  interestin'.  If  Slosson's  sendin'  in  code 
I  guess  he's  got  something  in  it  he  don't  need  folks  to  know. 
That  makes  it  more  worrying." 

Peter  heaved  a  great  sigh  of  longing.  The  other  shook 
his  head. 

"  You've  got  to  find  the  key  to  'em,"  he  said. 

"Yep  —  a  Bible,  or  some  queer  old  book.  Maybe  the 
'  History  of  the  United  States.'  Say,  I'd  hate  to  chase  up 
the  'History  of  the  United  States'  looking  for  a  key. 
Maybe  it  would  be  interestin',  though.  Say  - 


228  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  You  couldn't  do  it  in  a  month  of  years/'  laughed  Steve, 
humoring  his  friend.  "  What  would  it  be  worth  to  you  to 
be  able  to  read  his  code?  " 

"  Oh,  maybe  I'd  make  fifty  thousand  dollars." 

"  Whew !     That's  some  money." 

"  Sure.  I'd  like  to  try.  Say,  boy,  I'll  hand  you  five 
hundred  dollars  to  let  me  take  a  copy  of  that  message.  All 
you  need  do  is  just  leave  it  on  your  table  there  for  five 
minutes  and  lock  the  outer  door.  Then  just  pass  right  into 
the  other  room  till  the  five  minutes  is  up.  I'll  hand  you  the 
bills  right  here  an'  now.  I'd  like  to  figure  on  that  message. 
Is  it  a  bet?" 

Steve  shook  his  head.  He  was  scared.  He  knew  the 
consequences  of  discovery  to  himself  too  well.  It  was 
penitentiary.  It  was  the  equivalent  of  tapping  wires.  But 
Peter  was  unfolding  a  big  roll  of  bills,  and  the  temptation 
of  handling  that  money  was  very  great. 

"  You  just  need  to  copy  the  message  out?    That  all?  " 

"  Just  that.     No  more." 

"  You  won't  need  to  disfigure  my  record  ?  " 

"  Sure  not."  Peter  grinned.  He  was  sweating,  pro- 
fusely. He  felt  he  was  on  a  hot  scent  and  likely  to  make 
a  kill. 

"  Only  to  make  a  copy.  It's  a  big  bunch  of  money  for 
just  a  copy,"  Steve  demurred  suspiciously. 

Peter  laughed. 

"  Say,  boy,  we're  old  friends.  I  ain't  out  to  do  you  a 
hurt.  All  I  need  is  to  try  and  worry  out  that  code  and 
know  things.  If  I  was  sure  of  being  able  to  read  it,  why, 
this  five  hundred  would  be  five  thousand,  and  worth  it  all 
to  me,  every  cent  of  it.  If  I  can't  read  that  code,  then  I'll 
just  hand  you  back  my  copy,  and  no  harm's  done.  See? 


THE  CODE  BOOK  229 

I  tell  you  I  wouldn't  hurt  you  for  more  than  the  money  I 
hope  to  make.  Is  it  a  bet?  " 

Steve  passed  out  through  the  barrier  and  turned  the  key 
in  the  door.  Then  he  came  back. 

"  I'll  take  that  money." 

"  Good." 

Peter  paid  it  over,  and  then  watched  the  other  as  he  took 
the  original  message  which  Slosson  had  written  off  a  file 
and  laid  it  on  the  table  beside  a  blank  form. 

"  Say,  be  as  sharp  as  you  can  over  it,"  Steve  said 
urgently.  Then  he  passed  into  the  inner  room  and  closed 
the  door. 

The  interior  of  Mike  Callahan's  livery  barn  was  typical 
of  a  small  prairie  town.  Rows  of  horse-stalls  ran  down 
either  side  of  it,  from  one  end  to  the  other.  At  the  far 
end  sliding  doors  opened  out  upon  an  enclosure,  round 
which  were  the  sheds  sheltering  a  widely  varied  collection 
of  rigs  and  buggies.  Also  here  there  was  further  accom- 
modation for  horses.  Just  inside  the  main  barn,  to  the 
left,  the  American  Irishman  had  two  small  rooms.  The 
one  at  the  front,  with  its  window  on  Main  Street,  was  his 
office.  Behind  this,  dependent  for  light  upon  a  window 
at  the  side  of  the  building,  was  a  harness-room  crowded 
with  saddles  and  harness  of  every  description,  also  a  bunk 
on  which  Mike  usually  slept  when  he  kept  the  barn  open 
at  night. 

It  was  late  at  night  now,  about  midnight  on  the  day  fol- 
lowing Peter  Me  Swain's  momentous  effort  with  Steve  Ma- 
son. Four  men  were  gathered  together  in  profound  coun- 
cil in  Mike's  harness-room.  The  atmosphere  of  the  place 
was  poisonous.  A  horse  blanket  obscured  the  window,  and 


230  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

the  door  was  shut  and  locked,  although  the  barn  itself  was 
closed  for  the  night,  and  there  was  small  enough  chance  of 
intrusion.  Still,  every  precaution  had  been  taken  to  avoid 
any  such  contingency. 

A  single  guttering  candle  stuck  in  the  neck  of  a  black 
bottle  illumined  the  intent  faces  of  the  men.  Gordon  was 
sitting  at  a  small  table  with  a  sheet  of  paper  in  front  of 
him  and  a  small  morocco-bound  book  beside  it.  Silas 
Mallinsbee  and  Peter  McSwain  were  sitting  upon  Mike 
Callahan's  emergency  bunk,  while  the  owner  of  it  con- 
tented himself  with  an  upturned  bucket  near  the  door. 
Cigar-smoke  clouded  the  room  and  left  the  atmosphere 
choking,  but  all  of  them  seemed  quite  impervious  to  its  in- 
convenience. 

For  awhile  there  was  no  other  sound  than  the  rustle  of 
the  leaves  of  Gordon's  book  and  the  scratching  of  the  in- 
different pen  he  had  borrowed  from  Mike.  Then,  after 
what  seemed  interminable  minutes,  he  looked  up  from  his 
task  with  a  transparent  smile. 

"  It's  all  right/'  he  said  in  a  low,  thrilling  tone.  "  I 
guess  we've  got  the  game  in  our  hands.  He's  used  the 
governor's  code." 

"You  can  read  it?"  demanded  Peter  quickly,  leaning 
forward  with  a  stiff,  tense  motion. 

"  Is  it  what  we  guessed?  "  inquired  Mike,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

Mallinsbee  alone  offered  no  comment. 

Gordon  nodded  in  answer  to  each  inquiry.  He  was  read- 
ing what  he  had  written  over  to  himself. 

Then  he  turned  sharply  to  Peter. 

"  For  goodness'  sake  give  me  a  cigar.  I  need  something 
to  keep  me  from  shouting." 


THE  CODE  BOOK  231 

His  tone,  and  the  expression  of  his  eyes  were  full  of  ex- 
citement. 

"  It's  the  greatest  luck  ever,"  he  went  on,  while  Peter 
produced  a  cigar  and  passed  it  across  to  him.  "This 
feller's  in  direct  communication  with  the  governor.  You 
see,  this  code  is  the  private  one.  I  had  it  as  the  dad's  sec- 
retary. The  manager  had  it,  and,  of  course,  my  father. 
No  one  else.  So  it's  just  about  certain  this  thing  was  an 
important  matter  for  Slosson  to  be  allowed  to  use  it.  Now 
I'd  never  heard  of  this  Slosson  before,  so  that  it's  also  evi- 
dent he's  one  of  my  father's  secret  agents.  A  matter  which 
further  proves  the  affair's  importance." 

He  lit  his  cigar  and  puffed  at  it  leisurely  as  he  contem- 
plated his  paper  with  even  greater  satisfaction. 

"  This  is  addressed  direct  to  the  old  man,  which  —  makes 
our  work  doubly  easy,"  he  went  on.  "  Also  the  nature  of 
the  message  helps  us.  If  it  had  been  to  our  manager  it 
would  have  been  more  difficult  to  work  out  my  plans." 

He  raised  the  paper  so  that  the  candlelight  fell  full 
upon  it. 

"  This  is  the  transcript.  '  Occipud,  New  York  '—  that's 
my  father,"  he  added  in  parenthesis. 

" '  Have  bought  in  .Snake's  Fall,  working  on  instruc- 
tions. Buffalo  Point  crowd  out  for  a  heavy  graft.  Ut- 
terly unscrupulous  lot,  offering  impossible  deal.  Have 
turned  them  down  on  grounds  provided  for  in  your  in- 
structions. Snake's  Fall  everything  you  require.  Would 
suggest  you  come  up  here  incognito,  if  possibly  convenient. 
There  are  other  propositions  in  coal  worth  a  deep  consid- 
eration. Coal  deposits  here  the  greatest  in  the  country. 
Must  come  an  enormous  boom.  Will  send  word  later  on 
this  matter.  Am  sending  letter  covering  operations.  I 


232  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

think  it  will  be  urgent  that  you  visit  this  place  shortly  in  in- 
terests of  boom  as  well  as  the  coal. —  SLOSSON.'  ' 

Gordon  looked  round  at  the  faces  of  his  companions  in 
silent  triumph.  And  in  each  case  he  encountered,  a  keen 
expectancy.  As  yet  his  fellow  conspirators  were  rather  in 
the  dark.  The  significance  of  that  transcript  was  not  yet 
sufficiently  clear. 

"  What  comes  next  ?  "  inquired  Mallinsbee  in  his  calm, 
direct  fashion. 

The  others  simply  waited  for  enlightenment. 

Gordon  chuckled  softly. 

"  Now  we  know  we  can  get  at  Slosson's  messages  and  my 
father's  messages  to  him,  and,  having  the  code  book,  by 
a  miracle  of  good  luck,  in  my  possession,  the  rest  is  easy. 
First,  Peter  must  get  a  copy  of  my  father's  reply  to  this. 
Meanwhile  I  shall  send  an  urgent  message  to  my  father  in 
Slosson's  name  to  come  up  here  at  once.  The  answer  to 
that  must  never  reach  Slosson.  Get  me,  Peter?  You've 
got  that  boy  Steve  where  you  need  him.  You  must  hold 
him  there  and  pay  his  price.  I'll  promise  him  he'll  come  to 
no  harm.  When  my  father  finds  out  things  I'll  guarantee 
to  pacify  him.  This  way  we'll  get  my  father  here,  I'll 
promise  you.  And  when  he  does  get  here  the  fun  '11  begin 
-as  we  have  arranged.  That  clear?  Mike's  got  his 
work  marked  out.  You  yours,  Peter.  Mr.  Mallinsbee  and 
I  will  do  the  rest.  Peter,  you  did  a  great  act  laying  hands 
on  this  message.  It  was  worth  double  the  price.  The 
whole  game  is  now  in  our  hands." 

Gordon  folded  up  the  paper  and  placed  it  inside  the  code 
book,  which  he  carefully  returned  to  his  pocket. 

Mike  rubbed  his  hands. 

"  Say,  it's  sure  a  great  play,"  he  said  gleefully. 


THE  CODE  BOOK  233 

"  And  seein'  you're  his  son  the  risk  don't  amount  to  pea- 
shucks,"  nodded  the  perspiring  hotel  proprietor. 

"  You  can  be  quite  easy  on  that  score/'  laughed  Gordon. 
"  I  can  promise  you  this :  it  won't  be  the  old  dad's  fault, 
when  this  is  over,  if  you  don't  find  yourselves  gathered 
around  a  mighty  convivial  board  somewhere  in  New  York 
-  at  his  expense.  You  know  my  father  as  a  pretty  bright 
financier.  I  don't  guess  you  know  him  as  the  sportsman 
I  do." 

Mallinsbee  suddenly  bestirred  himself  and  removed  his 
cigar. 

"  I  kind  o'  wish  he  weren't  your  father,  Gordon,  boy," 
he  said  bluntly.  "  It  sort  of  seems  tough  to  me." 

Gordon's  eyes  shot  a  whimsical  smile  across  at  Hazel's 
father. 

"  I'd  hate  to  have  any  other,  Mr.  Mallinsbee,"  he  said. 
"  Maybe  I  know  how  you're  feeling  about  it.  But  I  tell 
you  right  here,  if  my  father  knew  I  had  this  opportunity 
and  didn't  take  it,  he'd  turn  his  face  to  the  wall  and  never 
own  me  as  his  son  again.  You're  reckoning  that  for  a  son 
to  do  his  father  down  sort  of  puts  that  son  on  a  level  with 
David  Slosson  or  any  other  low  down  tough.  Maybe  it 
does.  But  I  just  think  my  father  the  bulliest  feller  on 
earth,  and  I  love  him  mighty  hard.  I  love  him  so  well 
that  I'd  hate  to  give  him  a  moment's  pain.  I  tell  you 
frankly  that  it  would  pain  him  if  I  didn't  take  this  oppor- 
tunity. It  would  pain  him  far  more  than  anything  we  in- 
tend to  do  to  him  —  when  we  get  him  here." 

He  rose  from  his  seat  and  his  good-natured  smile  swept 
over  the  faces  of  his  companions. 

"  How  do  you  say,  gentlemen  ?  Our  work's  done  for  to- 
night. Are  we  for  bed  ?  : 


I   99 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

WAYS   THAT   ARE   DARK 

The  people  of  Snake's  Fall  were  in  the  throes  of  that 
artificial  excitement  which  ever  accompanies  the  prospect  of 
immediate  and  flowing  wealth  in  a  community  which  has 
been  feverishly  striving  with  a  negative  result. 

Nor  was  this  excitement  a  healthy  or  agreeable  wave  of 
emotion.  It  was  aggressive  and  vulgar.  It  was  hector- 
ing and  full  of  a  blatant  self-advertisement.  Men  who  had 
never  done  better  for  themselves  than  a  third-rate  hotel, 
or  who  had  never  used  anything  more  luxurious  than  a 
street  car  for  locomotion  in  their  ordinary  daily  life,  now 
talked  largely  of  Plaza  hotels  and  automobiles,  of  real  es- 
tate corners  and  bank  balances.  They  sought  by  every 
subterfuge  to  exercise  the  dominance  of  their  own  personal- 
ities in  the  affairs  of  the  place,  only  that  they  might  the 
further  enhance  their  individual  advantage.  Schemes  for 
building  and  trading  were  in  everybody's  minds,  and  money, 
so  long  held  tight  under  the  pressure  of  doubt,  now  began 
to  flow  in  one  incessant  stream  towards  the  coffers  of  the 
already  established  traders. 

Every  boom  city  is  more  or  less  alike,  and  Snake's  Fall 
was  no  variation  to  the  rule.  Gambling  commenced  in 
deadly  earnest,  and  the  sharpers,  with  the  eye  of  the  vul- 
ture for  carrion,  descended  upon  the  place.  How  word  had 
reached  them  would  have  been  impossible  to  tell.  Then 


WAYS  THAT  ARE  DARK  235 

came  the  accompaniment  of  loose  houses,  and  every  other 
evil  which  seems  to  settle  upon  such  places  like  a  pestilential 
cloud. 

To  Gordon,  looking  on  and  waiting,  it  was  all  a  matter 
of  the  keenest  interest,  not  untinged  with  a  certain  whole- 
some-minded disgust,  and  when  he  sometimes  spoke  of  it 
in  the  little  family  circle  at  the  ranch,  or  to  the  worldly- 
wise  Mike  Callahan  in  his  barn,  his  talk  was  never  without 
a  hint  of  real  regret. 

"  It  makes  a  feller  feel  kind  of  squeamish  watching  these 
folks,"  he  observed  to  Mike,  as  they  sat  smoking  in  the  lat- 
ter's  harness-room  one  afternoon.  "  You  see,  if  I  didn't 
know  the  whole  game  was  lying  in  the  palm  of  my  hand 
I'd  just  simply  sicken  at  the  sordidness  of  it.  We  can't 
feel  that  way,  though.  We're  worse  than  them.  They're 
just  dead  in  earnest  to  beat  the  game  by  the  accepted  rules 
of  it,  which  don't  debar  general  crookedness.  We're  out  to 
win  by  sheer  piracy.  Makes  you  laugh,  doesn't  it  ?  Makes 
it  a  good  play." 

Mike  was  older,  and  had  been  brought  up  in  a  hard 
school. 

"  Feelin's  don't  count  one  way  or  the  other,  I  guess," 
he  replied  contemptuously.  "  When  it  comes  to  takin'  the 
dollars  out  of  the  other  feller's  pocket  I'm  allus  ready  and 
willin'.  You  can  allus  help  him  out  after  you  beat  him. 
Private  charity  after  the  deal  is  a  sort  of  liqueur  after  a  good 
dinner." 

"  Charity  ?  "     Gordon  laughed. 

"Well,  maybe  you  got  another  name  for  it,"  retorted 
Mike  indifferently. 

"  Several,"  laughed  Gordon.  "  Rob  a  man  and  give  him 
something  back  needs  another  name." 


236  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  They  call  it  '  charity '  in  the  newspapers  when  them 
philanthropists  hand  back  part  of  the  wad  they've  collected 
from  a  deluded  public  —  anyway.  It  don't  seem  different 
to  me."  Mike's  tone  was  sharply  argumentative. 

"  It  isn't  different,"  agreed  Gordon.  "  They're  both  a 
salve  to  conscience.  The  only  thing  is  that  public  charity 
of  the  latter  nature  has  the  advantage  of  personal  adver- 
tisement. I'm  learning  things,  Mike.  I'm  learning  that 
the  moment  you  get  groping  for  dollars,  you've  just  tied  up 
into  a  sack  all  the  goodness  and  virtue  handed  out  to  you 
by  the  Creator  and  -*-  drowned  it." 

Though  Gordon  was  never  able  to  carry  any  sort  of  con- 
viction on  these  matters  with  Mike,  his  occasional  regrets 
found  a  cordial  sympathy  in  Hazel  Mallinsbee.  She 
watched  him  Yer7  closely  during  the  days  of  waiting  for 
the  maturity  of  his  schemes.  She  knew  the  impulse  which 
had  inspired  him.  She  understood  it  thoroughly.  It  was 
humor,  and  she  liked  him  all  the  better  for  it.  She  real- 
ized to  the  full  all  the  depth  of  love  Gordon  possessed  for 
his  father,  an  affection  which  was  not  one  whit  the  less  for 
the  fact  that  to  all  intents  and  purposes  his  object  was  the 
highway  robbery  of  that  parent. 

It  was  something  of  a  paradox,  but  one  which  she  per- 
fectly understood.  She  felt  that  it  was  a  case  of  two  strong 
personalities  opposed  to  each  other  in  friendly  rivalry. 
Gordon  had  propounded  his  beliefs  to  a  man  of  great  ca- 
pacity whose  convictions  were  opposed.  Opportunity  had 
served  the  younger  man,  who  now  intended  to  drive  his 
point  home  ruthlessly,  with  a  deep,  kindly  humor  lying  be- 
hind his  every  act.  She  could  imagine,  though  she  had 
never  seen  James  Carbhoy,  these  two  men,  big  and  strong 
and  kindly,  sitting  opposite  each  other,  smoking  luxuriously 


WAYS  THAT  ARE  DARK  237 

when  it  was  all  over,  discussing  the  whole  situation  in  the 
friendliest  possible  spirit. 

Her  father  offered  little  comment.  Curiously  enough, 
this  man,  who  had  so  much  at  stake,  deep  in  his  heart  did 
not  approve  of  the  whole  thing.  It  was  not  that  he  pos- 
sessed ordinary  scruples.  Had  the  conspiracy  been  opposed 
to  anybody  but  Gordon's  father  he  would  have  been  heart 
and  soul  in  the  affair.  He  would  have  reveled  in  the  dar- 
ing of  the  trick  which  Gordon  intended  to  carry  out.  As 
it  was,  he  was  old-fashioned  enough  to  see  some  sort  of 
heinous  ingratitude  and  offense  in  the  fact  of  a  son  pitted 
piratically  against  his  father. 

However,  he,  like  his  daughter,  watched  closely  for  every 
sign  this  son  of  his  father  gave.  But  while  Hazel  watched 
with  sympathy  and  real  understanding,  he  saw  only  with 
the  searching  eyes  of  the  observer  who  is  seeking  the  man- 
ner of  man  with  whom  he  is  dealing. 

Once  only,  during  the  days  of  waiting  and  comparative 
inaction,  he  gave  vent  to  his  disapproval,  and  even  then  his 
manner  was  purely  that  of  regret. 

They  were  sitting  together  in  the  evening  sunlight  on  the 
veranda  of  the  ranch. 

"  Gordon,  boy,"  he  said  in  his  deep,  rumbling  voice,  after 
a  long,  thoughtful  pause;  "  if  I  had  a  son,  which  I  guess  I 
haven't,  it  would  hurt  like  sin  to  think  he'd  act  towards  me 
same  as  you're  doing  to  your  father." 

His  remark  did  not  bring  forth  an  immediate  reply. 
When,  however,  it  finally  came,  accompanied  as  it  was  by 
twinkling,  mischievous  blue  eyes,  and  a  smile  of  infinite 
amusement,  Hazel,  who  was  standing  in  the  doorway  of 
the  house,  fully  understood,  although  it  left  her  father  un- 
convinced. 


238  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  If  you  were  my  father,  I  guess  you  wouldn't  hate  it  a 
—  little  bit,"  Gordon  said  cheerfully.  Then  his  eyes  wan- 
dered in  Hazel's  direction,  and  presently  came  back  again 
to  her  father's  face.  "  Maybe  I'll  live  many  a  long  year 
yet,  and  if  I  do  I  can  tell  you  right  here  that  perhaps  there'll 
only  be  one  greater  moment  in  my  life,  than  the  moment  in 
which  we  win  out  on  this  scheme.  I  just  want  you  to  re- 
member, all  through,  that  I  love  my  old  dad  with  all  that's 
in  me.  Same  as  Hazel  loves  you." 

From  that  moment  Gordon  heard  no  further  protest 
throughout  all  the  preparations  that  had  to  be  made.  Silas 
Mallinsbee  cheerfully  acquiesced  in  all  that  was  demanded 
of  him.  Furthermore,  he  tacitly  acknowledged  Gordon's 
absolute  leadership. 

Under  that  leadership  much  had  to  be  done  of  a  subtle, 
secret  nature.  The  impression  had  to  be  created  that  the 
Buffalo  Point  interests  had  completely  abandoned  the  game. 
It  was  an  anxious  time  —  anxious  and  watchful.  David 
Slosson  was  kept  under  close  surveillance  by  the  four  con- 
spirators, and,  to  this  end,  Gordon  and  Silas  Mallinsbee 
spent  most  of  their  time  in  Snake's  Fall,  which  further 
added  to  the  impression  that  their  interests  had  been  aban- 
doned. 

Having  succeeded  in  bribing  Steve  Mason,  the  telegraph 
operator,  in  the  first  place,  Peter  Me  Swain  further  bought 
him  body  and  soul  over  to  their  interests.  Mallinsbee's 
purse  was  wide  open  for  all  such  contingencies,  and  Steve 
was  left  with  the  comfortable  feeling  that,  whatever  hap- 
pened, he  had  made  sufficient  money  to  throw  up  his  job 
before  any  crash  came,  and  clear  out  to  safety  with  a  capital 
he  could  never  have  honestly  made  out  of  his  work. 

Thus  Gordon  had  been  enabled  at  last  to  dispatch  his 


WAYS  THAT  ARE  DARK  239 

urgent  code  message  to  his  father,  purporting  as  it  did  to 
come  from  David  Slosson.  It  was  an  irresistible  demand 
for  the  Union  Grayling  and  Ukataw  Railroad  President's 
immediate  presence  in  Snake's  Fall.  It  had  been  made  as 
strong  as  David  Slosson  would  have  dared  to  make  it. 
Nor,  when  the  answer  to  it  arrived,  would  it  ever  reach  the 
agent.  Nothing  was  forgotten.  Every  detail  had  been  pre- 
pared for  with  a  forethought  almost  incredible  in  a  man  of 
Gordon's  temperament  and  experience. 

It  was  late  evening  the  second  day  after  the  dispatching 
of  Gordon's  urgent  message.  He  had  not  long  returned 
home  to  the  ranch  with  Hazel's  father  from  a  day  amidst 
the  excitement  reigning  in  Snake's  Fall.  Hazel  was  in  the 
house  clearing  away  supper  and  generally  superintending 
her  domestic  affairs.  Silas  Mallinsbee  was  round  at  the 
corrals  in  consultation  with  his  ranch  foreman.  Gordon 
was  alone  on  the  veranda  smoking  and  gazing  thoughtfully 
out  at  the  wonderful  ruddy  sunset. 

For  him  there  was  none  of  the  peace  which  prevailed 
over  the  scene  that  spread  out  before  him.  How  could 
there  be?  Every  moment  of  the  two  days  which  had  in- 
tervened since  the  dispatching  of  his  message  had  been 
fraught  with  tense,  nervous  doubt.  Every  plan  he  had 
made  depended  on  the  answer  to  that  message,  and  he  felt 
that  the  time-limit  for  the  answer's  arrival  had  been  reached. 
It  must  come  now  within  a  few  hours.  He  felt  that  he 
must  get  it  to-morrow  morning  or  never.  And  when  it 
came  what  —  what  then?  Would  it  be  the  reply  he  de- 
sired, or  an  uncompromising  negative?  He  felt  that  the 
whole  thing  depended  upon  the  relations  between  his  father 
and  his  agent.  He  was  inclined  to  think,  from  the  very 


240  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

nature  of  the  work  his  father  had  intrusted  to  Slosson,  that 
those  relations  were  of  the  greatest  confidence.  He  hoped 
it  was  so,  but  he  could  not  be  absolutely  sure.  Therefore 
the  strain  of  waiting  was  hard  to  bear. 

While  his  busy  thoughts  teemed  through  his  brain,  and 
his  unappreciative  gaze  roamed  over  the  purpling  of  the 
distant  hills,  his  ears,  rendered  unusually  acute  in  the  deep 
evening  calm,  suddenly  caught  the  faint,  distant  rumble  of  a 
vehicle  moving  over  the  trail. 

His  quick  eyes  turned  alertly.  There  was  only  one  trail, 
and  that  was  the  road  to  Snake's  Fall.  The  alertness  of  his 
eyes  communicated  itself  to  his  body.  He  moved  off  the 
veranda  and  gazed  down  the  trail,  of  which  he  now  ob- 
tained a  clear  view.  A  team  and  buggy  were  approaching 
at  a  rapid  rate,  and,  even  at  that  distance,  he  fancied  he  rec- 
ognized it  as  the  one  of  Mike  Callahan's  which  he  had  him- 
self driven. 

A  wave  of  excitement  swept  over  him.  Could  it  be 
that ? 

He  went  back  to  the  veranda.  The  impulse  to  summon 
Mallinsbee  was  hard  to  resist.  But  he  forced  himself  to 
calmness. 

Five  minutes  later  Mike  Callahan  drove  up,  and  his  team 
stood  drooping  and  sweating. 

"  Say,"  he  cried,  in  aggrieved  fashion,  "  it  jest  set  me 
whoopin'  mad  when  that  wire-tappin'  operator  fell  into  my 
barn  with  his  blamed  message,  twenty  minutes  after  you 
an'  Mallinsbee  had  left.  Look  at  the  time  of  it.  It  had 
buzzed  over  the  wire  ha'f  an  hour  before  you  went."  Then 
he  began  to  grin,  and  a  keen  light  shone  in  his  Irish  eyes. 
"  But  when  I  see  who  it  was  from  I  guessed  I'd  need  to 
get  busy.  'Tain't  in  your  fancy  code.  It's  jest  as  plain 


WAYS  THAT  ARE  DARK  241 

as  my  face.     Read  it.     The  game's  up  to  us.     Guess  it's 
our  move  next." 

But  Gordon  was  paying  no  attention  to  the  Irishman. 
He  was  reading  the  brief  message  which  at  last  set  all  his 
doubts  at  rest. 

"  Arrive  Snake's  Fall  noon  seventeenth." 

It  was  addressed  to  Slosson,  but  there  was  no  signature. 

"That's  to-morrow."  Gordon's  eyes  lit.  Then  a 
shadow  of  doubt  crossed  his  smiling  face.  "  It's  dead  safe 
Steve  hasn't  sent  a  copy  to  Slosson?" 

Mike  grinned. 

"  Steve  don't  draw  his  wad  till  —  we're  sure." 

"  No." 

At  that  moment  Mallinsbee  appeared  round  the  angle 
of  the  building.  Gordon's  face  was  wreathed  in  smiles  as 
he  turned  to  him. 

"  We  get  to  work  —  to-night,"  he  said. 

Mallinsbee  nodded,  without  a  sign  of  the  other's  excite- 
ment. 

"  So  I  guessed  when  I  see  Mike's  team.     Peter  wise?  " 

"  Yep."  The  Irishman's  spirits  had  risen  to  a  great 
pitch.  "  I  put  him  wise." 

"  Splendid.     He's  got  everything  ready  ?  " 

Gordon  was  thinking  rapidly. 

"  Better  send  your  team  round  to  the  barn,"  said  Mallins- 
bee, with  that  thoughtful  care  he  had  for  all  animals. 
"  Then  come  inside  and  get  some  supper." 

Mike  prepared  to  drive  round  to  the  bam. 

"  I  see  the  rack  in  his  yard,"  he  grinned. 

"  Good/' 


242  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

Then  Gordon  laughed.  The  last  care  had  been  banished. 
Now  it  was  action.  Now?  Ah,  now  he  was  perfectly 
happy. 

The  night  was  intensely  still.  The  last  revelers  in 
Snake's  Fall  had  betaken  themselves  to  their  drunken  slum- 
bers. The  only  lights  remaining  were  the  glow  of  a  small 
cluster  of  red  lamps  just  outside  the  town  at  the  eastern 
end  of  it,  and  the  peeping  lights  behind  the  curtained  win- 
dows of  the  houses  to  which  these  belonged.  There  was 
no  need  to  question  the  nature  of  these  houses.  In  the 
West  they  are  to  be  found  on  the  fringe  of  every  young 
town  that  offers  the  prospect  of  prosperity. 

There  was  a  single  light  burning  in  the  hall  of  Mc- 
S  wain's  hotel.  This  was  as  usual,  and  would  burn  all  night. 
For  the  rest,  the  house  was  in  darkness.  The  last  guest  had 
retired  to  rest  a  full  hour  or  more. 

The  stillness  was  profound.  The  very  profundity  of  it 
was  only  increased  by  the  occasional  long-drawn  dole  of 
the  prairie  coyote,  foraging  somewhere  out  in  the  distance 
for  its  benighted  prey. 

The  shadowed  outbuildings  behind  the  hotel  remained 
for  a  long  time  as  quiet  as  the  rest  of  the  world.  The 
horses  in  the  barn  were  sleeping  peacefully.  The  fowls 
and  turkeys  and  geese  which  populated  the  yard  in  day- 
light were  as  profoundly  steeped  with  sleep  as  the  rest  of  the 
feathered  world.  Even  the  two  aged  husky  dogs,  set  there 
on  the  presumption  of  keeping  guard,  were  composed  for 
the  night. 

But  after  awhile  sounds  began  to  emanate  from  the  dark 
barn.  With  the  first  sound  a  dog-chain  rattled,  and  imme- 
diately a  low  voice  spoke.  After  that  the  dog-chain  re- 


WAYS  THAT  ARE  DARK  243 

mained  still.  Next  came  the  sound  of  hoofs  on  the  hard 
sand  floor  of  the  barn.  They  were  hasty,  but  swiftly 
passing.  The  last  sound  was  heard  as  two  horses  emerged 
upon  the  open,  each  led  by  a  shadowy  figure  quite  un- 
recognizable in  the  velvety  darkness  of  the  starlit 
night. 

The  horses  moved  across  towards  the  vague  outline  of 
a  large  hayrack  which  stood  mounted  in  the  running  gear 
of  a  dismantled  wagon,  and  the  figures  leading  them  began 
at  once  to  hook  them  up  in  place.  While  this  was  happen- 
ing two  other  figures  were  loading  the  rack  with  hay  from 
the  corral  near  by,  in  which  stood  a  half-cut  haystack. 
Their  work  seemed  to  be  more  intricate  than  the  usual 
process  of  loading  a  hayrack.  There  seemed  to  be  a  sort 
of  wide  and  long  cage  in  the  bottom  of  the  rack,  and  the 
hay  needed  careful  placing  to  leave  the  interior  of  this  free, 
while  yet  surrounding  it  completely  and  rendering  it  abso- 
lutely obscured. 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  the  work  was  completed,  and 
the  four  men  gathered  together  and  conversed  in  low 
voices. 

After  this  a  fresh  movement  took  place.  The  group 
broke  up,  and  each  moved  off  as  though  to  carry  out  affairs 
already  agreed  upon.  One  man  mounted  the  rack  and  took 
up  his  position  for  driving  the  team.  Another  stood  near 
the  rear  of  the  wagon  and  remained  waiting,  whilst  the 
other  two  moved  towards  the  hotel. 

These  latter  parted  as  they  neared  the  building.  One 
of  them  entered  it  through  the  back  door,  and  as  he  came 
within  the  radiance  of  the  solitary  oil-lamp  it  became  ap- 
parent that  his  face  was  completely  masked.  He  moved 
stealthily  forward,  listening  for  any  unwelcome  sound, 


244  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

mounted  the  staircase,  and  was  immediately  swallowed  up 
by  the  darkness  of  the  corridor  above. 

Meanwhile  his  companion  had  taken  another  route.  He 
had  moved  along  the  building  to  the  left  of  the  back  door. 
His  objective  was  the  iron  fire-escape  which  went  up  to  the 
gallery  outside  the  upper  windows. 

He  found  it  almost  at  the  end  of  the  building,  and  began 
the  ascent.  In  a  few  moments  he  was  at  the  top,  and,  mov- 
ing along  the  narrow  iron  gallery,  he  counted  the  windows 
as  he  passed  them.  At  the  fifth  window  he  paused  and 
examined  it.  The  blind  inside  was  withdrawn,  and  he  ran 
over  in  his  mind  the  various  details  which  had  been  given 
him.  He  knew  that  the  latch  inside  had  been  carefully  re- 
moved. 

He  tried  the  window  cautiously.  It  moved  easily  to  his 
pressure,  and  a  smile  stole  over  his  masked  features  when 
he  remembered  that  ample  grease  had  been  placed  in  its 
slipway.  It  was  good  to  think  that  these  contingencies  had 
been  so  carefully  provided  for. 

The  window  was  sufficiently  open.  The  process  had 
been  entirely  soundless,  but  he  bent  down  and  listened  in- 
tently. Far  away,  somewhere  inside,  he  could  hear  the 
sound  of  deep  breathing.  He  made  his  next  move  quickly 
and  stealthily.  One  leg  was  raised  and  thrust  through  the 
opening,  and,  bending  his  great  body  nearly  double,  he 
made  his  way  into  the  room  beyond. 

Pausing  for  a  few  moments  to  assure  himself  that  the 
sleeper  in  the  adjoining  room  had  not  been  disturbed,  he 
next  made  his  way  towards  the  door,  aided  by  the  light  of 
a  silent  sulphur  match.  He  quickly  withdrew  the  bolt,  and 
was  immediately  joined  by  the  man  who  had  entered  the 
hotel  through  the  back  diopr. 


WAYS  THAT  ARE  DARK  245 

Now  he  turned  his  attention  to  the  room  itself.  Yes, 
everything  was  as  he  had  been  told.  It  was  a  largish  room, 
and  a  small  archway,  hung  with  heavy  curtains,  divided  it 
from  another.  The  portion  he  had  entered  was  furnished 
as  a  parlor,  and  beyond  the  curtains  was  the  bedroom. 
Signing  to  his  companion  to  remain  where  he  was,  he  moved 
swiftly  and  silently  to  the  heavy  drawn  curtains.  For  a 
second  he  listened  to  the  breathing  beyond;  then  he  parted 
them  and  vanished  within. 

David  Slosson  awoke  out  of  a  heavy  sleep  with  a  sudden 
nightmarish  start.  He  thought  some  one  was  calling  him, 
shouting  his  name  aloud  in  a  terrified  voice. 

But  now  he  was  wide  awake  in  the  pitch-dark  room :  no 
sound  broke  the  silence.  He  was  on  his  back,  and  he  made 
to  turn  over  on  to  his  side.  Instantly  something  cold  and 
hard  encountered  his  cheek  and  a  whispering  voice  broke 
the  silence. 

"  One  word  and  you're  a  dead  man ! "  said  the  voice. 
"  Just  keep  quite  still  and  don't  speak,  and  you  won't  come 
to  any  harm." 

David  Slosson  was  no  fool,  nor  was  he  a  coward,  but, 
amongst  his  other  many  experiences  on  the  fringe  of  civili- 
zation, he  had  learned  the  power  of  a  gun  held  right.  He 
knew  that  his  cheek  had  encountered  the  cold  muzzle  of  a 
gun.  Shocked  and  startled  and  helpless  as  he  was,  he  re- 
mained perfectly  still  and  silent,  awaiting  developments. 

They  came  swiftly.  The  curtains  parted  and  a  man, 
completely  masked  and  clad  in  the  ordinary  prairie  kit  of 
the  West,  and  bearing  a  lighted  lamp  in  his  hand,  entered 
the  room.  His  first  assailant,  holding  the  gun  only  inches 
from  his  head,  Slosson  could  not  properly  discern.  Out  of 


246  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

the  corners  of  his  eyes  he  was  aware  that  his  face  was 
masked  like  that  of  the  other,  but  that  was  all. 

The  newcomer  set  the  lamp  down  on  a  table  and  ad- 
vanced to  the  other  side  of  the  bed.  Instantly  he  produced 
a  strap,  enwrapped  in  the  folds  of  a  thick  towel. 

Slosson  realized  what  was  about  to  happen,  and  con- 
templated resistance. 

As  though  his  thoughts  had  been  read  the  man  with  the 
gun  spoke  again  — 

"  Only  one  sound  an'  I'll  blow  your  brains  to  glory. 
Thef'  ain't  no  help  around  that  you  ken  get  in  time.  So 
don't  worry  any." 

The  threat  of  the  gun  was  irresistible,  and  Slosson 
yielded. 

The  second  man  forced  the  strap  gag  into  his  mouth  and 
buckled  it  tightly  behind  his  victim's  head.  This  done,  the 
agent's  hands  were  lashed  fast  with  a  rope.  Then  the  gun 
was  withdrawn  and  the  wretched  agent  was  assisted  into 
his  clothes,  after  the  pockets  had  been  searched  for  weapons. 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  whole  transaction  was  com- 
pleted, and,  with  hands  securely  fastened  behind  his  back 
and  the  gag  in  his  mouth  fixed  cruelly  firmly,  David  Slosson 
stood  ready  to  follow  his  captors. 

During  all  that  time  he  had  used  his  eyes  and  all  his  in- 
telligence to  discover  the  identity  of  his  assailants,  but  with- 
out avail.  Even  their  great  size  afforded  him  no  enlighten- 
ment, with  their  entire  faces  hidden  under  the  enveloping 
masks. 

In  silence  the  light  was  extinguished.  In  silence  they 
left  the  room  and  proceeded  down  the  stairs.  In  silence 
they  came  to  the  waiting  hayrack  outside.  Here  Slosson 
beheld  the  other  two  masked  figures,  one  on  the  wagon,  and 


WAYS  THAT  ARE  DARK  247 

the  other  waiting  at  the  rear  of  it.  But  he  was  given  no 
further  chance  of  observation.  His  captors  seized  him 
bodily  and  lifted  him  into  the  cage  beneath  the  hay,  while 
one  of  the  men  got  in  with  him  and  now  secured  his  feet. 

After  that  more  hay  was  thrown  into  the  vehicle,  till  it 
looked  like  an  ordinary  farmer's  rack,  and  then  the  horses 
started  off,  and  the  prisoner  knew  that,  for  some  inexplica- 
ble reason,  he  had  been  kidnaped. 

Mrs.  Carbhoy  had  been  concerned  all  day.  When  she 
was  concerned  about  anything  her  temper  generally  gave 
way  to  a  condition  which  her  youthful  daughter  was  pleased 
to  describe  as  "  gritty."  Whether  it  really  described  her 
mother's  mood  or  not  mattered  little.  It  certainly  ex- 
pressed Grade's  understanding  of  it. 

To-day  nothing  the  child  did  was  right.  She  had  called 
her  physical  culture  instructress  a  "  cat "  that  morning, 
only  because  she  had  been  afraid  to  enter  into  a  more  dras- 
tic physical  argument  with  her.  For  that  her  "  gritty  " 
mother  had  deprived  her  of  candy  for  the  day.  She  had 
refused  to  do  anything  right  at  her  subsequent  dancing  les- 
son, in  consequence,  and  for  that  she  had  had  her  week's 
pocket-money  stopped.  Then  at  lunch  she  had  willfully 
broken  the  peace  by  upsetting  a  glass  of  ice- water  upon  the 
glass-covered  table,  and  incidentally  had  broken  the  glass. 
For  this  she  was  confined  to  her  school-room  for  the  rest 
of  the  day,  and  was  only  allowed  to  appear  before  her  dis- 
turbed mother  at  her  nine-o'clock  bed  hour. 

When  a  very  indignant  Gracie  appeared  before  her 
mother  to  fulfill  her  final  duty  of  kissing  her  "  good-night;' 
that  individual  was  more  "  gritty  "  than  ever.  She  was  in 
the  .act  of  opening  a  bulky  letter  addressed  to  her  in  a  fa- 


248  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

miliar  handwriting.  Gracie  knew  at  once  from  whom  it 
came.  Instantly  the  imp  of  mischief  stirred  in  her  bosom. 

"  What  nursing  home  will  you  send  Gordon  to  when  he 
gets  back  ?  "  she  inquired  blandly. 

Her  mother  eyed  her  coldly  while  she  drew  out  the  sheets 
of  letter-paper.  She  pointed  to  a  wall  bell. 

"  Ring  that  bell/'  she  ordered  sharply. 

Gracie  obeyed,  wondering  what  was  to  be  the  conse- 
quence of  her  fresh  effort.  She  had  not  long  to  wait.  Her 
mother's  maid  entered. 

"  Tell  Huxton  to  pack  Miss  Gracie's  trunks  ready  for 
Tuxedo.  She  will  leave  for  Vernor  Court  by  the  midday 
express.  Her  governesses  will  accompany  her." 

The  maid  retired.  In  an  instant  all  hope  had  fled,  and 
Gracie  was  reduced  to  hasty  penitence. 

"  Please,  momma,  don't  send  me  out  to  the  country.  I'm 
sorry  for  what  I've  done  to-day,  real  sorry  —  but  I've  just 
had  the  fidgets  all  day,  what  with  pop  going  away  and  — 
and  that  silly  Gordon  never  coming  near  us,  or  —  or  any- 
thing. True,  momma,  I  won't  be  naughty  ever  again. 
'Deed  I  won't.  Oh,  say  you  won't  send  me  off  by  myself," 
she  urged,  coming  coaxingly  to  her  mother's  side. 
"  There's  Jacky  Molyneux  going  to  take  me  a  run  in 
his  automobile  to-morrow  afternoon,  and  we're  going  to 
Garden  City,  and  he  always  gives  me  heaps  of  ice- 
cream. Oh,  momma,,  don't  send  me  off  to  that  dreadful 
Tuxedo." 

At  all  times  Mrs.  Carbhoy  was  easily  cajoled,  and  just 
now  she  was  feeling  so  miserable  and  lonely  since  her  hus- 
band had  been  called  away  on  urgent  business,  she  knew  not 
where.  Then  here  was  another  of  Gordon's  troublesome 
letters  in  her  lap.  So  in  her  trouble  she  yielded  to  her  only 


WAYS  THAT  ARE  DARK  249 

remaining  belonging.  But  she  forthwith  sat  her  long-leg- 
ged daughter  on  a  footstool  at  her  feet,  and  as  penance  made 
her  listen  to  the  reading  of  the  letter  which  had  just  arrived. 
Somehow,  in  view  of  the  previous  letters  from  her  son,  Mrs. 
Carbhoy  felt  it  to  be  impossible  to  face  this  new  one  without 
support,  even  if  that  support  were  only  that  of  her  wholly 
inadequate  thirteen-year-old  daughter. 

"  DEAREST  MUM  : 

"  Since  Cain  got  busy  shooting  up  his  brother  Abel,  since 
Delilah  became  a  slave  to  the  tonsorial  art  and  practiced  on 
Samson,  since  Jael  turned  her  carpentering  stunts  to  con- 
siderable account  by  hammering  tacks  into  poor  Sisera's 
head,  right  through  the  long  ages  down  to  the  record-break- 
ing achievements  of  the  champion  prevaricator  Ananias,  I 
fjuess  the  crookedness  of  human  nature  has  progressed  until 
it  has  reached  the  pitch  of  a  fine  art,  such  as  is  practiced  by 
legislators,  diplomats  and  New  York  police  officers. 

"  This  is  a  sweeping  statement,  but  I  contend  it  is  none 
the  less  true. 

"  I'd  say  that  in  examining  the  facts  we  need  to  study  the 
real  meaning  of  '  crookedness/  We  must  locate  its  cause 
as  well  as  effect.  Now  '  crookedness '  is  the  divergence 
from  a  straight  line,  which  some  fool  man  spent  a  lifetime 
in  discovering  was  the  shortest  route  from  one  given  point 
to  another.  No  doubt  that  fellow  thought  he  was  making 
some  discovery,  but  it  kind  of  seems  to  me  any  chump  out- 
side the  bug-house  and  not  under  the  influence  of  drink 
would  know  it  without  having  to  spend  even  a  summer 
vacation  finding  it  out,  and,  anyway,  I  don't  guess  it's  worth 
shouting  about. 

"  I  guess  it's  up  to  us  to  track  this  straight  line  down  in 


250  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

its  application  to  ethics.  That  buzzy-headed  discoverer  also 
says  a  line  is  length  without  breadth.  Consequently,  I 
argue  that  a  straight  line  is  just  '  nothing/  anyway.  Then 
when  a  mush-headed  dreamer  starts  right  out  to  walk  the 
straight  line  of  life  it's  a  million  to  one  chance  he'll  break 
his  fool  neck,  or  do  some  other  positively  ridiculous  stunt 
that's  liable  to  terminate  what  ought  to  have  been  a  promis- 
ing career.  I  submit,  from  the  foregoing  arguments,  the 
straight  line  of  ethical  virtue  is  just  a  vision,  a  dream,  an 
hallucination,  a  nightmare.  It's  one  of  those  things  the 
whole  world  loves  to  sit  around  on  Sundays  and  yarn  about, 
and  just  as  many  folks  would  hate  to  practice,  anyway. 
And  this  is  as  sure  as  you'll  find  the  only  bit  of  glass  on  the 
road  when  you're  automobiling  if  you  don't  just  happen  to 
be  toting  a  spare  tyre. 

"  Seeing  that  you  can't  everlastingly  keep  trying  to  walk 
on  f  nothing '  without  disastrous  consequences,  and,  further, 
seeing  the  days  of  miracles  have  died  with  many  other 
privileges  which  our  ancestors  enjoyed,  such  as  being  burned 
at  the  stake  and  painting  up  our  bodies  in  fancy  colors,  it  is 
natural,  even  a  necessity,  that  '  crookedness '  should  have 
come  into  its  own. 

"  Let's  start  right  in  at  the  first  chapter  of  a  man's  life 
It'll  point  the  whole  argument  without  anything  else.  It's 
ingrained  even  in  the  youngest  kid  to  resort  to  subterfuge. 
Subterfuge  is  merely  the  most  innocent  form  in  a  crook's 
thesis.  Maybe  a  kid,  lying  in  its  cradle,  with  only  a  few 
days  of  knowledge  to  work  on,  don't  know  the  finer  points 
he'll  learn  later.  But  he  knows  what  he  wants,  and  is  going 
to  get  it.  He's  going  to  get  the  other  feller  where  he  wants 
him,  and  then  force  him  to  do  his  bidding.  It's  his  first 
effort  in  '  crookedness '  when  he  finds  the  straight  line  of 


WAYS  THAT  ARE  DARK  251 

virtue  is  just  a  most  uncomfortable  nightmare.     How  does 
he  do  it? 

"  I  guess  it's  this  way.  He  needs  his  food.  He  guesses 
his  gasoline  tank  needs  filling.  He  don't  guess  he's  going 
to  lie  around  with  a  sort  of  mean  draught  blowing  pneu- 
monia through  his  vitals.  He  just  waits  around  awhile  to 
see  if  any  one's  yearning  to  pump  up  his  infantile  tyre,  and 
when  he  finds  there's  nothing  doing,  why,  he  starts  right  in 
to  make  his  first  fall  off  the  straight  line  of  virtue.  You 
see,  the  straight  line  says  that  kid's  tank  needs  filling  only 
at  stated  intervals.  The  said  kid  don't  see  it  that  way,  so 
he  turns  himself  into  a  human  megaphone,  scares  the  house- 
hold cat  into  a  dozen  fits,  starts  up  a  canine  chorus  in  the 
neighboring  backyards,  makes  his  father  yearij  to  shoot  up 
the  feller  that  wrote  the  marriage  service,  sets  the  local 
police  officer  tracking  down  a  murder  that  was  never  com- 
mitted, and  maybe,  if  he  only  keeps  things  humming  long 
enough,  sets  all  the  State  legal  machinery  working  overtime 
to  have  his  parents  incarcerated  for  keeping  an  insanitary 
nuisance  on  the  premises. 

"  See  the  crookedness  of  that  kid?  The  moment  he  finds 
himself  duly  inflated  with  milk  he  lies  low.  Do  you  get  the 
lesson  of  it?  It's  plumb  simple.  That  kid  wanted  some- 
thing. He  didn't  care  a  cuss  for  regulations.  He  just  laid 
right  there  and  said,  '  Away  with  'em ! '  He  was  thirsty, 
or  hungry,  or  greedy.  Maybe  he  was  all  three.  Anyway, 
he  wanted,  and  set  about  getting  what  he  wanted  the  only 
way  he  knew.  All  of  which  illustrates  the  fact  that  when 
human  nature  demands  satisfaction  no  laws  or  regulations 
are  going  to  stand  in  the  way.  And  that's  just  life  from 
the  day  we're  born. 
'  "  From  the  foregoing  remarks  you  may  incline  to  the 


252  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

belief  that  I  have  set  out  willfully  to  outrage  every  moral 
and  human  law.  This  is  not  quite  the  case.  I  am  merely 
giving  you  the  benefit  of  my  observations,  and  also,  since  I 
am  merely  another  human  unit  in  the  perfectly  ridiculous 
collection  of  bipeds  which  go  to  make  up  the  alleged  superior 
races  of  this  world,  I  must  fall  into  line  with  the  rest. 

"If  Abel  gets  in  my  way  I  must  '  out '  him.  If  I  can 
manufacture  a  down  cushion  out  of  old  Samson's  hair  to 
make  my  lot  more  comfortable,  I'm  just  going  to  get  the 
best  pair  of  shears  and  get  busy.  If  I'm  going  to  collect 
amusement  from  studding  that  chump  Sisera's  head  with 
tacks,  why,  it's  up  to  me  to  avoid  delay  that  way.  And  as 
for  Ananias,  he  seems  to  me  to  have  been  a  long  way  ahead 
of  his  time.  They'd  have  had  his  monument  set  up  in  every 
public  office  in  the  country  to-day.  He'd  have  been  the 
emblem  of  every  trading  corporation  I  know,  and  his  effigy 
would  have  served  as  the  coat-of-arms  for  the  whole  of  the 
present-day  creation. 

"  I  trust  you  are  keeping  well,  and  the  responsibility  of 
guiding  the  development  of  our  Gracie  is  showing  no  sign 
of  undermining  your  constitution.  Gracie  is  really  a  good 
girl,  if  a  little  impetuous.  I  notice,  however,  that  impetu- 
osity gives  way  before  the  responsibilities  of  life.  So  far 
she  is  quite  young.  I'm  hoping  good  results  when  she  gets 
responsibility. 

"  Give  my  best  love  to  the  old  D'ad,  and  tell  him  that  he 
must  be  careful  of  his  health  in  such  a  desperate  heat  as  New 
York  provides  in  summer  time.  I  think  a  month's  vacation 
in  the  hills  would  be  excellent  for  him  at  this  time  of  year. 
I  am  looking  forward  to  the  time  when  I  shall  see  him 
again. 

"  You  might  tell  him  I  hope  to  fulfill  my  mission  under 


WAYS  THAT  ARE  DARK  253 

schedule  time.  If  you  do  not  hear  from  me  again  you  will 
know  I  am  working  overtime  on  the  interests  in  which  I 
left  New  York. 

"  Your  loving  son, 

"  GORDON. 

"  P.S. —  It  occurs  to  me  I  have  not  told  you  all  the  news 
I  would  have  liked  to  tell  you.  But  two  pieces  occur  to  me 
at  the  moment.  First,  that  achievement  in  life  demands  not 
the  fostering  of  the  gentler  human  emotions,  but  their  out- 
raging. Also,  no  man  has  the  right  to  abandon  honesty 
until  dishonesty  pays  him  better. 

"  G." 

The  mother's  sigh  was  a  deep  expression  of  her  hopeless 
feelings  as  she  finished  the  last  word  of  her  son's  postscript. 

Gracie  watched  her  out  of  the  corners  of  her  eyes. 

"  What's  the  matter,  momma?  "  she  inquired. 

Her  mother  broke  down  weakly. 

"  They  haven't  found  a  trace  of  him  yet.  They  can't 
locate  how  these  letters  are  mailed.  They  can't  just  find  a 
thing.  And  all  the  time  these  letters  come  along,  and  — 
and  they  get  worse  and  worse.  It's  no  good,  Gracie;  the 
poor  boy's  just  crazy.  Sure  as  sure.  It's  the  heat,  or- 
or  drink,  or  strain,  or  —  maybe  he's  starving.  Anyway, 
he's  gone,  and  we'll  never  see  our  Gordon  again  —  not  in 
his  right  mind.  And  now  your  poor  father's  gone,  too. 
Goodness  knows  where.  I'll  —  yes,  I'll  have  to  set  the  in- 
quiry people  to  find  him,  too,  if  —  if  I  don't  hear  from  him 
soon.  To  —  to  think  I'd  have  lived  to  see  the  day 

when " 

.  "  I  don't  guess  Gordon's  in  any  sort  of  trouble,  momma," 


254  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

cried  Gracie,  displaying  an  unexpected  sympathy  for  her 
distracted  parent.  Then  she  smiled  that  wise  little  superior 
smile  of  youth  which  made  her  strong  features  almost 
pretty.  "  And  I'm  sure  he's  not  —  crazy.  Say,  mom,  just 
don't  think  anything  more  about  it.  And  I'd  sort  of  keep 
all  those  letters  —  if  they're  like  that.  You  never  told  me 
the  others.  May  I  read  them?  I  never  would  have  be- 
lieved Gordon  could  have  written  like  that  —  never.  You 
see,  Gordon's  not  very  bright  —  is  he  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XIX 

JAMES    CARBHOY   ARRIVES 

Snake's  Fall  was  in  that  sensitive  state  when  the  least  jar 
or  news  of  a  startling  nature  was  calculated  to  upset  it,  and 
start  its  tide  of  human  emotions  bubbling  and  surging  like 
a  shallow  stream  whose  course  has  been  obstructed  by  the 
sudden  fall  of  a  bowlder  into  its  bed. 

Early  the  following  morning  just  such  a  metaphorical 
bowlder  fell  right  into  the  middle  of  the  Snake's  Fall  stream. 
The  news  flew  through  the  little  town,  now  so  crowded  with 
its  overflowing  population  of  speculators,  with  that  celerity 
which  vital  news  ever  attains  in  small,  and  even  large  places. 
It  was  on  everybody's  lips  before  the  breakfast  tables  were 
cleared.  And,  in  a  matter  of  seconds,  from  the  moment  of 
its  penetration  to  the  individual,  minds  were  searching  not 
only  the  meaning,  but  the  effect  it  would  have  upon  the 
general  situation,  and  their  own  personal  affairs  in  par- 
ticular. 

David  Slosson,  the  agent  of  the  Union  Grayling  and  Uka- 
taw  Railroad,  had  defected  in  the  night!  He  had  gone  — 
bolted  —  leaving  his  bill  unpaid  at  McSwain's  hotel ! 

For  a  while  a  sort  of  paralysis  seized  upon  the  population. 
It  was  staggered.  No  trains  had  passed  through  in  the 
night.  Not  even  a  local  freight  train.  How  had  he  gone  ? 
But  most  of  all  —  why  ? 

The  next  bit  of  news  that  came  through  was  that  Peter's 
best  team  had  been  stolen  from  the  barn,  also  an  empty  hay- 


256  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

rack.  This  was  mystifying,  until  it  became  known  that 
Peter's  buggy  was  laid  up  at  Mike  Callahan's  barn,  under- 
going repairs.  The  hayrack  was  the  only  vehicle  available. 
But  what  about  saddle  horses  for  a  rapid  bolt?  Curiously 
enough  it  was  discovered  that  Peter's  saddle  horses  were  out 
grazing.  Besides,  the  story  added  that  the  man  had  taken 
his  baggage  with  him.  Not  a  thing  had  been  left  behind, 
and  baggage  like  his  could  not  have  been  carried  on  a  saddle 
horse. 

The  story  grew  as  it  traveled.  It  was  the  snowball  over 
again.  It  was  said  that  Peter  had  been  robbed  of  a  large 
amount  of  money  which  he  kept  in  his  safe.  Also  his  cash 
register  had  been  emptied.  An  added  item  was  that  Peter 
himself  had  been  knifed,  and  had  been  found  in  a  dying 
condition.  In  fact  every  conceivable  variation  of  the  facts 
were  flung  abroad  for  the  benefit  of  credulous  ears.  Conse- 
quently the  tide  of  curious,  and  startled,  and  interested 
news-seekers  set  in  the  direction  of  Peter's  hotel  at  an  early 
hour. 

Then  it  was  that  something  of  the  real  facts  were  dis- 
covered. And,  in  consequence,  those  who  had  participated 
in  Slosson's  land  deals,  and  had  received  deposit  money, 
congratulated  themselves.  While  those  who  had  not  so 
profited  felt  like  "  kicking  "  themselves  for  their  want  of 
enterprise. 

Peter  stormed  through  his  house  the  whole  morning. 
He  was  like  a  very  hot  and  angry  lion  in  a  cage  far  too 
small  for  it.  His  story,  as  he  told  it  in  the  office,  was  super- 
lative in  furious  adjectives. 

"  I  tell  you  fellows,"  he  cried,  at  a  group  of  wondering- 
eyed  boarders  in  his  establishment,  "  I  ha'f  suspected  he 
was  a  blamed  crook  from  the  first  moment  I  got  my  eyeballs 


JAMES  CARBHOY  ARRIVES  257 

onto  him.  The  feller  that  '11  bilk  his  board  bill  is  come 
mighty  low,  sirs.  So  mighty  low  you  wouldn't  find  a  well 
deep  enough  for  him.  He  had  the  best  rooms  in  the  house 
at  four  an'  a  ha'f  dollars  a  day  all  in,  an'  I  ain't  see  a  fi'  cent 
piece  of  his  money,  cep'  you  ken  count  the  land  deposit  he 
paid  me.  I  just  been  right  through  his  rooms,  an'  he  ain't 
left  a  thing,  not  a  valise,  nor  a  grip.  Not  even  a  soot  of 
pyjamas,  or  a  soap  tablet.  He's  sure  cleared  right  out  fer 
good,  and  we  ain't  goin'  to  see  him  round  again,"  he  finished 
up  gloomily. 

Then  his  fire  broke  out  again. 

"  But  that  ain't  what  I'm  grievin'  most,  I  guess.  Ther's 
allus  skunks  around  till  a  place  gets  civilized  up,  an'  their 
bokay  ain't  pleasant.  But  he's  a  hoss  thief,  too.  There's 
my  team.  You  know  that  team  of  mine,  Mr.  Davison,"  he 
went  on,  turning  to  the  drug  storekeeper  who  had  dropped 
in  to  hear  his  friend's  news.  "  You've  drove  behind  'em 
many  a  time.  They  got  a  three-minute  gait  between  'em 
which  'ud  show  dust  to  any  team  around  these  parts.  That 
team  was  worth  two  thousand  dollars,  sirs,  and  was  matched 
to  an  inch,  and  a  shade  of  color.  Say,  if  I  get  across  his 
tracks,  an'  Sheriff  Richardson  is  out  after  him  with  a  posse, 
I'm  goin'  to  get  a  shot  in  before  the  United  States  Authori- 
ties waste  public  money  feeding  him  in  penitentiary.  I'm 
feelin'  that  mad  I  can't  eat,  an'  I  don't  guess  I'd  know  how 
to  hand  a  decent  answer  to  a  Methodist  minister  if  he  came 
along.  If  I  don't  get  news  of  that  team  I'm  just  going  to 
start  and  break  something.  I  don't  figure  if  he'd  burned 
this  shack  right  over  my  head  I'd  have  felt  as  mad  as  I  do 
losin'  that  dandy  team." 

When  questioned  as  to  how  the  man  had  got  away  his 
answer  came  sharply. 


256  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

rack.  This  was  mystifying,  until  it  became  known  that 
Peter's  buggy  was  laid  up  at  Mike  Callahan's  barn,  under- 
going repairs.  The  hayrack  was  the  only  vehicle  available. 
But  what  about  saddle  horses  for  a  rapid  bolt?  Curiously 
enough  it  was  discovered  that  Peter's  saddle  horses  were  out 
grazing.  Besides,  the  story  added  that  the  man  had  taken 
his  baggage  with  him.  Not  a  thing  had  been  left  behind, 
and  baggage  like  his  could  not  have  been  carried  on  a  saddle 
horse. 

The  story  grew  as  it  traveled.  It  was  the  snowball  over 
again.  It  was  said  that  Peter  had  been  robbed  of  a  large 
amount  of  money  which  he  kept  in  his  safe.  Also  his  cash 
register  had  been  emptied.  An  added  item  was  that  Peter 
himself  had  been  knifed,  and  had  been  found  in  a  dying 
condition.  In  fact  every  conceivable  variation  of  the  facts 
were  flung  abroad  for  the  benefit  of  credulous  ears.  Conse- 
quently the  tide  of  curious,  and  startled,  and  interested 
news-seekers  set  in  the  direction  of  Peter's  hotel  at  an  early 
hour. 

Then  it  was  that  something  of  the  real  facts  were  dis- 
covered. And,  in  consequence,  those  who  had  participated 
in  Slosson's  land  deals,  and  had  received  deposit  money, 
congratulated  themselves.  While  those  who  had  not  so 
profited  felt  like  "  kicking  "  themselves  for  their  want  of 
enterprise. 

Peter  stormed  through  his  house  the  whole  morning. 
He  was  like  a  very  hot  and  angry  lion  in  a  cage  far  too 
small  for  it.  His  story,  as  he  told  it  in  the  office,  was  super- 
lative in  furious  adjectives. 

"  I  tell  you  fellows,"  he  cried,  at  a  group  of  wondering- 
eyed  boarders  in  his  establishment,  "  I  ha'f  suspected  he 
was  a  blamed  crook  from  the  first  moment  I  got  my  eyeballs 


JAMES  CARBHOY  ARRIVES  257 

onto  him.  The  feller  that  '11  bilk  his  board  bill  is  come 
mighty  low,  sirs.  So  mighty  low  you  wouldn't  find  a  well 
deep  enough  for  him.  He  had  the  best  rooms  in  the  house 
at  four  an'  a  ha'f  dollars  a  day  all  in,  an'  I  ain't  see  a  fi'  cent 
piece  of  his  money,  cep'  you  ken  count  the  land  deposit  he 
paid  me.  I  just  been  right  through  his  rooms,  an'  he  ain't 
left  a  thing,  not  a  valise,  nor  a  grip.  Not  even  a  soot  of 
pyjamas,  or  a  soap  tablet.  He's  sure  cleared  right  out  fer 
good,  and  we  ain't  goin'  to  see  him  round  again/'  he  finished 
up  gloomily. 

Then  his  fire  broke  out  again. 

"  But  that  ain't  what  I'm  grievin'  most,  I  guess.  Ther's 
allus  skunks  around  till  a  place  gets  civilized  up,  an'  their 
bokay  ain't  pleasant.  But  he's  a  hoss  thief,  too.  There's 
my  team.  You  know  that  team  of  mine,  Mr.  Davison,"  he 
went  on,  turning  to  the  drug  storekeeper  who  had  dropped 
in  to  hear  his  friend's  news.  "  You've  drove  behind  'em 
many  a  time.  They  got  a  three-minute  gait  between  'em 
which  'ud  show  dust  to  any  team  around  these  parts.  That 
team  was  worth  two  thousand  dollars,  sirs,  and  was  matched 
to  an  inch,  and  a  shade  of  color.  Say,  if  I  get  across  his 
tracks,  an'  Sheriff  Richardson  is  out  after  him  with  a  posse, 
I'm  goin'  to  get  a  shot  in  before  the  United  States  Authori- 
ties waste  public  money  feeding  him  in  penitentiary.  I'm 
feelin'  that  mad  I  can't  eat,  an'  I  don't  guess  I'd  know  how 
to  hand  a  decent  answer  to  a  Methodist  minister  if  he  came 
along.  If  I  don't  get  news  of  that  team  I'm  just  going  to 
start  and  break  something.  I  don't  figure  if  he'd  burned 
this  shack  right  over  my  head  I'd  have  felt  as  mad  as  I  do 
losin'  that  dandy  team." 

When  questioned  as  to  how  the  man  had  got  away  his 
answer  came  sharply. 


258  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"How?  Why,  what  was  there  to  stop  him,  sir?  I  tell 
you  right  here  we  ain't  been  accustomed  to  deal  with  his 
kind  in  Snake's.  The  folk  around  this  layout,  till  this  coal 
boom  started,  has  all  been  decent  citizens."  He  glared  with 
hot  eyes  upon  the  men  about  him,  who  were  nearly  all  specu- 
lators attracted  by  that  very  coal  boom.  "  There's  that 
darned  fire-escape  out  back,  right  down  from  his  room,  an' 
what  man  has  ever  locked  his  barn  in  these  parts  ?  Psha !  " 
he  cried,  in  violent  disgust.  "  I've  had  that  team  three 
years,  and  I've  never  so  much  as  had  a  lock  put  to  the 
barn." 

So  it  went  on  all  the  morning.  Peter's  fury  was  one  of 
the  sights  of  the  township  for  that  day.  He  was  never 
without  an  audience  which  flowed  and  ebbed  like  a  tide, 
stimulated  by  curiosity,  self-interest,  and  the  natural  satis- 
faction of  witnessing  another's  troubles  which  is  so  much 
an  instinct  of  human  nature. 

And  beneath  every  other  emotion  which  the  agent's  sud- 
den defection  aroused  was  a  wave  of  almost  pitiful  mean- 
ness. The  dreams  of  the  last  week  and  more  had  received 
a  set  back.  In  many  minds  the  boom  city  was  tottering. 
The  crowding  hopes  of  avarice  and  self-interest  had  sud- 
denly received  a  douche  of  cold  water.  What,  these  specu- 
lators asked  themselves,  and  each  other,  did  the  incident 
portend,  what  had  the  future  in  store? 

So  keen  was  the  interest  worked  up  about  Peter  Mc- 
Swain's  house  that  every  other  consideration  for  the  time 
being  was  forgotten.  Party  after  party  visited  Slosson's 
late  quarters  with  a  feeling  of  conviction  that  some  trifling 
clew  had  been  overlooked,  and,  by  some  happy  chance,  the 
luck  and  glory  of  having  discovered  it  might  fall  to  their 
lot.  But  it  was  all  of  no  avail.  The  room  was  absolutely 


JAMES  CARBHOY  ARRIVES  259 

empty  of  all  trace  of  its  recent  occupant,  as  only  an  hotel 
room  can  become. 

With  the  excitement  the  daily  west-bound  passenger  train 
was  forgotten,  and  by  the  time  it  was  signaled  in,  the  little 
depot  was  almost  deserted.  There  were  one  or  two  rigs 
backed  up  to  it  on  the  town  side,  and  perhaps  a  dozen  towns- 
people were  present.  But  the  usual  gathering  was  nowhere 
about. 

Amongst  the  few  present  were  Hazel  Mallinsbee  and 
Gordon.  They  had  driven  up  in  a  democrat  wagon  with  a 
particularly  fine  team,  and  having  backed  the  vehicle  up  to 
the  boarded  platform,  they  stood  talking  earnestly  and  quite 
unnoticed.  Hazel  was  dressed  in  an  ordinary  suit  that  pos- 
sessed nothing  startling  in  its  atmosphere  of  smartness. 
Her  skirt  was  of  some  rather  hard  material,  evidently  for 
hard  wear,  and  the  upper  part  of  her  costume  was  a 
white  lawn  shirtwaist  under  a  short  jacket  which  matched 
her  skirt.  Her  head  was  adorned  by  her  customary  prai- 
rie hat,  which,  in  Gordon's  eyes,  became  her  so  admir- 
ably. 

Gordon  was  holding  up  a  picture  for  the  girl's  closest 
inspection. 

"  Say,  it's  sheer  bull-headed  luck  I  got  this  with  me,"  he 
was  saying.  "  I  found  it  amongst  my  old  papers  and  things 
when  I  left  New  York,  and  I  sort  of  brought  it  along  as  a 
'  mascot.'  The  old  dad's  older  than  that  now,  but  you  can't 
mistake  him.  It's  a  bully  likeness.  Get  it  into  your  mind 
anyway,  and  then  keep  it  with  you." 

Hazel  gazed  admiringly  at  the  portrait  of  the  man  who 
claimed  Gordon  as  his  son.  For  the  moment  she  forgot  the 
purpose  in  hand. 

"Isn't  he  just  splendid?"  she  exclaimed.     "You're- 


260  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

you're  the  image  of  him.     Why,  say,  it  seems  the  unkindest 
thing  ever  to —  to  play  him  up." 

Gordon  laughed. 

"  Don't  worry  that  way.  We're  going  to  give  him  the 
time  of  his  life."  Then  he  glanced  swiftly  about  him,  and 
noted  the  emptiness  of  the  depot.  "  I  guess  Peter's  keeping 
the  folks  busy.  He's  a  bright  feller.  I  surely  guess  he's 
working  overtime.  Now  you  get  things  fixed  right,  Hazel. 
The  train's  coming  along." 

The  girl  nodded. 

"  You  can  trust  me." 

"Right."  Gordon  sighed.  "I'll  make  tracks  then. 
But  I'll  be  around  handy  to  see  you  don't  make  a  mistake." 

He  left  the  depot  and  disappeared.  Hazel  stood  study- 
ing the  picture  in  her  hand,  and  alternating  her  attention 
with  the  incoming  train.  She  was  in  a  happy  mood.  The 
excitement  of  her  share  in  Gordon's  plot  was  thrilling 
through  her  veins,  and  the  thought  that  she  was  going  to 
meet  his  father,  the  great  multi-millionaire,  left  her  almost 
beside  herself  with  delighted  interest. 

She  wondered  how  much  she  would  find  him  like  Gordon. 
No,  she  thought  softly,  he  could  never  be  really  like  Gordon. 
That  was  impossible.  A  multi-millionaire  could  never  have 
his  son's  frank  enthusiasm  for  life  in  all  its  turns  and  twist- 
ings  of  moral  impulse.  Gordon  faced  life  with  a  defiant 
"don't  care."  That  glorious  spirit  of  youth  and  moral 
health.  His  father,  for  all  his  physical  resemblance,  would  j 
be  a  hard,  stern,  keen-eyed  man,  with  all  experience  behind 
him.  Then  she  remembered  Gordon's  injunctions. 

"  Be  just  yourself,"  he  had  said.  Then  he  had  added, 
with  a  laugh,  "If  you  do  that  you'll  have  the  dear  old  boy 
at  your  feet  long  before  the  day's  had  time  to  get  cool." 


JAMES  CARBHOY  ARRIVES  261 

It  was  rather  nice  Gordon  talking  that  way,  and  the 
smile  which  accompanied  her  recollection  was  frankly  de- 
lighted. Anyway  she  would  soon  know  all  about  it,  for 
the  train  was  already  rumbling  its  way  in. 

James  Carbhoy  had  done  all  that  had  been  required  of 
him  by  his  agent's  message.  He  had  not  welcomed  the 
abandonment  of  his  private  car  in  favor  of  the  ordinary 
parlor  car  and  sleeper.  Then,  too,  the  purchase  of  a  ticket 
for  his  journey  had  seemed  strange.  But  somehow,  after 
the  first  break  from  his  usual  method  of  travel,  he  had  found 
enjoyment  in  the  situation.  His  fellow  passengers,  with 
whom  he  had  got  into  conversation  on  the  journey,  had 
passed  many  pleasant  hours,  and  it  became  quite  absorbing 
to  look  on  at  the  affairs  of  the  world  through  eyes  that,  for 
the  time  being,  were  no  longer  those  of  one  of  the  country's 
multi-millionaires. 

However,  the  journey  was  a  long  one,  and  he  was  pleased 
enough  when  he  reached  his  destination  all  unheralded  and 
unrecognized.  It  amused  him  to  find  how  many  travelers 
in  the  country  knew  nothing  about  James  Carbhoy  and  his 
vast  financial  exploits. 

As  the  train  slowed  down  he  gathered  up  his  simple  be- 
longings, which  consisted  of  a  crocodile  leather  suitcase,  a 
stout  valise  of  the  same  material;  and  a  light  dust  coat, 
which  he  slung  over  his  arm.  Armed  with  these,  he  fell  in 
with  the  queue  making  its  way  towards  the  exit  of  the  car. 
He  frankly  and  simply  enjoyed  the  situation.  He  told  him- 
self he  was  merely  one  of  the  rest  of  the  get-rich-quick 
brigade  who  were  flocking  to  the  Eldorado  at  Snake's  Fall. 

He  was  the  last  to  alight,  and  he  scanned  the  depot  plat- 
form for  the  familiar  figure  of  his  confidential  agent.  As 


264  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

father,  a  great  surge  of  shame  was  stirring  in  her  heart 
which  made  her  hate  herself. 

For  some  time  the  man  gazed  about  him  interestedly. 
Then,  as  they  lost  themselves  among  the  wooden  frame 
dwelling-houses,  he  breathed  a  deep  sigh  of  content  and 
drew  out  one  of  those  extravagant  cigars  which  Gordon 
had  not  tasted  for  so  many  weeks. 

"  Say,  will  smoke  worry  you  any,  young  lady?  "  he  in- 
quired kindly. 

Hazel  was  thankful  for  the  opportunity  of  a  cordial  reply. 

"  Why,  no,"  she  cried.  Then  on  the  impulse  she  went 
on,  "  I  just  love  the  smell  of  smoke  where  men  are/'  She 
laughed  merrily.  "  I  guess  men  without  smoke  makes  you 
feel  they're  sick  in  body  or  conscience." 

Gordon's  father  laughed  in  his  quiet  fashion  as  he  lit 
his  cigar. 

"  That  way  I  guess  folks  of  the  Anti-Tobacco  League 
need  to  start  right  in  and  build  hospitals  for  themselves." 

The  girl  nodded. 

"Anti-Tobacco?"  she  said.  "Why,  'anti'  anything 
wholesomely  human  must  be  a  terrible  sick  crowd.  I'd 
hate  to  trust  them  with  my  pocket-book,  and,  goodness 
knows,  there's  only  about  ten  cents  in  it.  Even  that  would 
be  a  temptation  to  such  folks." 

Again  came  the  millionaire's  quiet  laugh. 

"  That's  the  result  of  the  healthy  life  you  folks  live  right 
out  here  in  the  open  sunshine,"  he  said,  noting  the  pretty 
tanning  of  the  girl's  face.  "  I  don't  guess  it's  any  real  sign 
of  health,  mentally  or  physically,  when  folks  have  to  start 
'  anti '  societies,  eh?" 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  the  girl.  "  Did  you  ever  know  any- 
body that  was  really  healthy  who  started  in  to  worry  how 


JAMES  CARBHOY  ARRIVES  265 

they  were  living?  It's  just  what  I  used  to  notice  way  back 
at  college  in  Boston.  The  girls  that  came  from  cities  were 
just  full  of  cranks  and  notions.  This  wasn't  right  for  them 
to  eat,  that  wasn't  right  for  them  to  do.  And  it  seemed  to 
me  all  their  folks  belonged  to  some  '  anti '  society  of  some 
sort.  If  the  '  anti '  wasn't  for  themselves  it  was  for  some 
other  folks  who  weren't  worried  with  the  things  they  did 
or  the  way  they  lived.  It  just  seems  to  me  cities  are  full  of 
cranks  who  can  run  everything  for  other  folks  and  need 
other  folks  to  run  everything  for  them.  It's  just  a  sort  of 
human  drug  store  in  which  every  med'cine  has  to  be  able  to 
cure  the  effects  of  some  other.  Out  here  it's  different.  We 
got  green  grass  and  sunshine,  the  same  as  God  started  us 
with,  and  so  we  haven't  got  any  use  for  the  '  anti '  folks." 

"  No."  James  Carbhoy  had  forgotten  the  journey  and 
its  object.  He  was  only  aware  of  this  fresh,  bright  young 
creature  beside  him.  He  stirred  in  his  seat  and  glanced 
about  him  from  a  sheer  sense  of  a  new  interest,  and  in  look- 
ing about  he  became  aware  of  a  horseman  riding  on  the 
same  trail  some  distance  behind  them. 

"  You  said  Boston  just  now,"  he  said  curiously.  '  You 
were  educated  in  Boston?" 

Hazel  nodded. 

"Yes,  my  poppa  sent  me  to  Boston.  He  just  didn't 
reckon  anything  but  Boston  was  good  enough.  But  I  was 
glad  to  be  back  here  again." 

The  millionaire  would  have  liked  to  question  her  more 
closely  as  to  how  she  came  to  be  driving  a  team  at  Slosson's 
command.  He  had  no  great  regard  for  his  agent  outside 
of  business*  But  somehow  he  felt  it  would  be  an  imper- 
tinence, and  so  refrained.  Instead,  he  changed  the  subject. 

"•How  far  out  are  the  coalfields?"  he  inquired. 


266  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  About  five  miles."  The  memory  of  her  purpose  swept 
over  the  girl  again,  and  her  reply  came  shortly,  and  she 
glanced  back  quickly  over  her  shoulder. 

As  she  did  so  she  became  sickeningly  aware  that  two 
horsemen  were  on  the  trail  some  distance  behind  them. 
How  she  wished  she  had  never  undertaken  this  work ! 

"  I  suppose  there's  quite  a  town  there  now  ?  "  was  the 
millionaire's  next  inquiry. 

"  Not  a  great  deal,  but  there's  comfortable  quarters  the 
other  side  of  it.  It's  going  to  be  a  wonderful,  wonderful 
place,  sir,  when  the  railroad  starts  booming  it." 

Hazel  felt  she  must  get  away  from  anything  approaching 
a  cross-examination. 

"  I  don't  just  get  that,"  said  Carbhoy  evasively. 

"  Well,  it's  just  a  question  of  depot.  You  see,  there's 
coal  right  here  enough  to  heat  the  whole  world.  That's 
what  folks  say.  And  when  the  railroad  fixes  things  so 
transport's  right,  why,  everybody  '11  just  jump  around  and 
build  up  big  commercial  corporations,  and  —  there'll  be 
dollars  for  everybody." 

"I  see  — yes." 

"  Mr.  Slosson  is  working  that  way  now,"  the  girl  went 
on.  Then  she  added,  with  a  shadowy  smile,  "  That's  why 
he  couldn't  get  in  to  meet  you,  I  guess." 

"  He  must  be  very  busy,"  said  the  millionaire  dryly. 
"  However,  I'm  glad."  And  Hazel  turned  in  time  to  dis- 
cover his  kindly  smile. 

Carbhoy  gazed  about  him  at  the  open  plains  with  which 
they  were  surrounded.  The  air,  though  hot,  was  fresh,  and 
the  sunlight,  though  brilliant,  seemed  to  lack  something  of 
that  intensity  to  be  found  in  the  enclosed  streets  of  a  city. 
He  threw  away  his  cigar  stump,  and  in  doing  so  he  glanced 


JAMES  CARBHOY  ARRIVES  267 

back  over  the  trail  again.  He  remained  gazing  intently  in 
that  direction  for  some  moments.  Then  he  turned  back. 

"  I  guess  those  fellers  riding  along  behind  are  just  prairie 
men/'  he  said. 

Hazel  started  and  looked  over  her  shoulder.  There  were 
four  men  now  riding  together  on  the  trail.  They  were 
steadily  keeping  pace  with  her  team  some  two  hundred  yards 
behind. 

It  was  some  moments  before  the  man  received  his  answer. 
Hazel  was  troubled.  She  was  almost  horrified. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  at  last,  with  an  effort.  "  They're  just 
prairie  men."  Then  she  smiled,  but  her  smile  was  a  further 
effort.  "  They're  pretty  tough  boys  to  look  at,  but  I'd  say 
they're  all  right.  Maybe  you're  not  used  to  the  prairie? " 

The  millionaire  smiled. 

"  I've  seen  it  out  of  a  train  window,"  he  said. 

"  Through  glass,"  said  Hazel.  "  It  makes  a  difference, 
doesn't  it?  It's  the  same  with  everything.  You've  got  to 
get  into  contact  to  —  to  understand." 

"  But  there  hasn't  always  been  glass  between  me  and  — 
things." 

Hazel's  smile  was  spontaneous  now  as  she  nodded  her 
appreciation. 

"  I'm  sure,"  she  said.     "  You  see,  you're  a  millionaire." 

Carbhoy  smiled  back  at  her. 

"  Just  so."  This  girl  was  slowly  filling  him  with  amaze- 
ment. 

"  It's  real  plate-glass  now,"  Hazel  went  on. 

"  And  plate-glass  sometimes  gets  broken." 

"  Yes,  I  s'pose  it  does.  But  you  can  fix  it  again  —  being 
a  millionaire." 

"Yes " 


268  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

The  millionaire  broke  off.  There  was  a  rush  of  hoofs 
from  behind.  The  horsemen  were  close  up  to  them,  coming 
at  a  hard  gallop.  Carbhoy  turned  quickly.  So  did  Hazel. 
The  millionaire's  eyes  were  calmly  curious.  He  imagined 
the  men  were  just  going  to  pass  on.  Hazel's  eyes  were  full 
of  a  genuine  alarm.  She  had  known  what  to  expect.  But 
now  that  the  moment  had  come  she  was  really  terrified. 
What  would  Gordon's  father  do?  Had  he  a  revolver? 
And  would  he  use  it  ?  This  was  the  source  of  her  fear. 

It  was  a  breathless  moment  for  the  girl.  It  was  the  crux 
of  all  Gordon's  plans.  She  was  the  center  of  it.  She,  and 
these  men  who  were  to  execute  the  lawless  work. 

She  was  given  no  time  to  speculate.  She  was  given  no 
time  but  for  that  dreadful  wave  of  fear  which  swept  over 
her,  and  left  her  pretty  face  ghastly  beneath  its  tanning.  A 
voice,  harsh,  commanding,  bade  her  pull  up  her  team,  and 
the  order  was  accompanied  by  a  string  of  blasphemy  and 
the  swift  play  of  the  man's  gun. 

"  Hold  'em  up,  blast  you !  Hold  'em,  or  I'll  blow  the 
life  right  out  o'  you !  "  came  the  ruthless  order. 

At  the  same  time  James  Carbhoy  was  confronted  with  a 
gun  from  another  direction,  and  a  sharp  voice  invited  him 
to  "  push  his  hands  right  up  to  the  sky." 

Both  orders  were  obeyed  instantly,  and  as  Hazel  saw  her 
companion's  hands  thrown  up  over  his  head  a  great  reaction 
of  relief  set  in.  She  sat  quite  still  and  silent.  Her  reins 
rested  loosely  in  her  lap.  She  no  longer  dared  to  look  at  her 
companion.  Now  that  all  danger  of  his  resistance  was  past 
she  feared  lest  an  almost  uncontrollable  inclination  to  laugh 
should  betray  her. 

She  kept  her  eyes  steadily  fixed  upon  these  men,  every 
one  of  whom  she  had  known  since  her  childhood,  and  to 


JAMES  CARBHOY  ARRIVES  269 

whom  she  fully  made  up  her  mind  she  intended  to  read  a 
lecture  on  the  subject  of  the  use  of  oaths  to  a  woman,  some- 
time in  the  future.  As  she  watched  them  her  inclination  to 
laugh  grew  stronger  and  stronger.  They  had  carried  out 
their  part  with  a  nicety  for  detail  that  was  quite  laudable. 
Each  man  was  armed  to  the  teeth,  and  was  as  grotesque  a 
specimen  of  prairie  ruffianism  as  clothes  could  make  him  - 
the  leader  particularly.  And  he,  in  everyday  life,  she  knew 
to  be  the  mildest  and  most  quaintly  humorous  of  men. 

But  his  work  was  carried  out  now  without  a  shadow  of 
humor.  He  looked  murder,  or  robbery,  or  any  other  crime, 
as  he  ordered  her  out  of  the  driving  seat,  and  waited  while 
she  scrambled  over  the  back  of  the  seat  to  one  of  those  be- 
hind with  a  movement  well-nigh  precipitate.  Then,  at  a 
sign,  one  of  the  other  men  took  her  place,  and,  at  another 
short  command  to  "  look  over  "  the  millionaire,  the  same 
man  proceeded  to  search  Gordon's  father  for  weapons.  The 
production  of  an  automatic  pistol  from  one  of  his  coat 
pockets  filled  Hazel  with  consternation  at  the  thought  of 
the  possibilities  of  disaster  which  had  lain  therein. 

But  the  four  assailants  gave  no  sign.  Their  work  pro- 
ceeded swiftly  and  silently.  The  millionaire's  feet  were 
secured,  and  he  was  left  in  his  seat.  Then,  under  the  hands 
of  the  man  who  had  replaced  Hazel,  the  journey  was  con- 
tinued with  the  escort  beside  and  behind  the  vehicle. 

As  they  drove  on  Hazel  wondered.  Her  eyes,  very  soft, 
very  regretful,  were  fixed  on  the  iron-gray  head  of  the  man 
in  the  front  seat.  She  registered  a  vow  that  if  he  were  hurt 
by  the  bonds  that  held  his  ankles  fast  some  one  was  going 
to  hear  about  it.  Now  that  the  whole  thing  was  over  and 
done  with  she  felt  resentful  and  angry  with  anybody  and 
everybody  —  except  the  victim  of  the  outrage.  She  was 


270  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

even  mad  with  herself  that  she  had  lent  assistance  to  such  a 
cruel  trick. 

But  the  millionaire  gave  no  sign.  Hazel  longed  to  know 
something  of  his  feelings,  but  he  gave  neither  her  nor  his 
assailants  the  least  inkling  of  them  for  a  long  time.  At  last, 
however,  a  great  relief  to  the  girl's  feelings  came  at  the 
sound  of  his  voice,  which  had  lost  none  of  its  even,  kindly 
note. 

"  Say,"  he  observed,  addressing  the  ruffian  beside  him, 
who  was  busily  chewing  and  spitting,  "  you  don't  mind  if  I 
smoke,  do  you  ?  " 

Then  Hazel  made  a  fresh  vow  of  retribution  for  some 
one  as  the  answer  came. 

"  You  can  smoke  all  the  weed  you  need,"  the  man  said, 
with  a  fierce  oath,  "  only  don't  try  no  monkey  tricks. 
You're  right  fer  awhile,  anyways,  if  you  sit  tight,  I  guess, 
but  if  you  so  much  as  wink  an  eye  by  way  of  kickin',  why, 
I'll  blow  a  whole  hurricane  o'  lead  into  your  rotten  carcase." 

It  was  a  long  and  weary  journey  that  ended  somewhere 
about  midnight.  Nor  was  it  until  the  teamster  drew  up  at 
the  door  of  a  small,  squat  frame  house  that  James  Carbhoy's 
bonds  were  finally  released.  He  was  thankful  enough,  in 
spite  of  his  outward  display  of  philosophic  indifference. 
He  knew  that  he  was  the  victim  of  a  simple  "  hold-up,"  and 
had  little  enough  fear  for  his  life.  The  matter  was  a  ques- 
tion of  ransom,  he  guessed.  It  was  one  of  those  things 
he  had  often  enough  heard  of,  but  which,  up  to  now,  he  had 
been  lucky  enough  to  escape.  He  only  wondered  how  it 
came  about  that  these  "  toughs  "  had  learned  of  his  coming. 
He  felt  that  it  must  have  been  Slosson's  fault.  He  must 
have  opened  his  mouth.  Well,  for  the  time,  at  least,  there 


JAMES  CARBHOY  ARRIVES  271 

was  little  to  do  but  hope  for  the  best  and  make  the  best  of 
things  generally. 

He  was  given  no  option  now  but  to  obey.  His  captors 
ordered  him  out  of  the  wagon  in  the  same  rough  manner  in 
which  they  ordered  Hazel.  And  the  leader  conducted  them 
both  into  the  house. 

There  was  a  light  burning  in  the  parlor,  and  the  million- 
aire looked  about  him  in  surprise  at  the  simple  comfort  and 
cleanliness  of  the  place.  He  had  expected  a  mere  hovel, 
such  as  he  had  read  about.  He  had  expected  filth  and  dis- 
comfort of  every  sort.  But  here  —  here  was  a  parlor, 
neatly  furnished  and  with  a  wonderful  suggestion  of  home- 
ness  about  it.  He  was  pleasantly  astonished.  But  the 
leader  of  the  gang  was  intent  upon  the  business  in  hand. 

He  turned  to  Hazel  first  and  pointed  at  the  door  which 
led  into  the  kitchen. 

"  Say,  you ! "  he  cried  roughly.  "  You  best  get  right 
out  wher*  you'll  belong  fer  awhiles.  We  ain't  used  to 
female  sassiety  around  this  layout,  an'  I  don't  guess  we  need 
any  settin'  around  now.  Say,  you'll  jest  see  to  the  vittles 
fer  this  gent  an'  us.  Ther's  a  Chink  out  back  ther'  what 
ain't  a  circumstance  when  it  comes  to  cookin'  vittles.  You'll 
see  he  fixes  things  right  —  seein'  we've  a  millionaire  fer 
company.  Get  busy." 

Hazel  departed,  but  a  wild  longing  to  box  the  fellow's 
ears  nearly  ruined  everything.  There  certainly  was  a  reck- 
oning mounting  up  for  some  one. 

The  moment  she  had  departed  the  man  turned  his  scowl- 
ing, repellent  eyes  upon  his  male  prisoner. 

"  Now,  see  here,  Mister  James  Carbhoy.  I  guess  you're 
yearning  for  a  few  words  from  me.  Wai,  I  allow  they're 
goin'  to  be  mighty  few.  See?"  he  added  brutally.  "I 


272  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

ain't  given  to  a  heap  of  talk.  There's  jest  three  things  you 
need  to  hear  right  here  an'  now.  The  first  is,  it's  goin'  to 
cost  you  jest  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  'fore  you  get  into 
the  bosom  o'  your  family  again.  The  second  is,  even  if 
you  got  the  notion  to  try  and  dodge  us  boys,  you  couldn't 
get  out  o'  these  mountains  without  starvin'  to  death  or 
breakin'  your  rotten  neck.  You're  jest  a  hundred  miles 
from  Snake's  Fall,  and  ninety  o'  that  is  Rocky  Mountains 
an'  foothills.  You  ain't  goin'  to  be  locked  in  a  prisoner 
here.  There  ain't  no  need.  You  can  jest  get  around  as 
you  please  —  in  daylight  —  and  one  of  the  boys  '11  always 
be  on  your  track.  At  night  you're  just  goin'  to  stop  right 
home  —  in  case  you  lose  yourself.  The  third  is,  if  you  kick 
any  or  try  to  get  away  —  well,  I  don't  guess  you'll  try  much 
else  on  this  earth.  The  room  over  this  is  your  sleep-room, 
an'  I  guess  you  can  tote  your  baggage  right  there  now.  So 
long." 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply  the  man  beat  a  retreat  out 
through  the  front  door,  which  he  locked  behind  him  with 
considerable  display. 

Once  outside,  the  man  hurried  away  round  to  the  back  of 
the  house,  where,  to  his  surprise,  he  found  Hazel  waiting 
for  him. 

She  addressed  him  by  name  in  a  sharp  whisper. 

"  Bud !  "  she  commanded.     "  Come  right  here !  " 

Then,  as  the  man  obeyed  her,  she  led  him  silently  away 
from  the  house  in  the  direction  of  the  corrals.  Once  well 
out  of  earshot  of  the  house  she  turned  on  him. 

"  Now  see  here,  Bud,"  she  cried.  "  I've  had  all  I'm 
yearning  for  of  you  for  the  next  twenty-four  years.  Now 
you're  going  to  light  right  out  back  to  the  ranch  right  away, 
and  don't  you  ever  dare  to  come  near  here  again  —  ever, 


JAMES  CARBHOY  ARRIVES  273 

My !  but  your  language  has  been  a  disgrace  to  any  New  York 
tough.  I've  never,  never  heard  such  a  variety  of  curse 
words  ever.  If  I'd  thought  you  could  have  talked  that  way 
I'd  have  had  you  go  to  Sunday  school  every  Sunday  since 
you've  been  one  of  our  foremen." 

"  'Tain't  just  nothin',  Miss  Hazel,"  the  man  deprecated. 
"  I  ken  do  better  than  that  on  a  round-up  when  the  boys  get 
gay.  Say,  it  just  did  me  good  talkin'  to  a  multi-millionaire 
that  way.  I  don't  guess  I'll  ever  get  such  a  chance  again." 

;t  That  you  won't,"  cried  Hazel,  smiling  in  the  darkness, 
in  spite  of  her  outraged  feelings. 

"  But  I  acted  right,  Miss,"  protested  the  man.  "  I  don't 
guess  he'd  have  located  me  f  er  anything  but  a  '  hold-up.' 
Say,  we'd  got  it  all  fixed.  We  just  acted  it  over.  I  was 
plumb  scared  he'd  shoot,  though.  You  never  can  tell  with 
these  millionaires.  I  was  scared  he  wouldn't  know  enough 
to  push  his  hands  up.  Say,  we'd  have  had  to  rush  him  if  he 
hadn't,  an'  maybe  there'd  have  been  damage  done." 

Hazel  sighed. 

"  There's  enough  of  that  done  already.  Say,  you're  sure 
you  didn't  hurt  his  poor  ankles.  You  see,"  she  explained, 
"  he's  Mr.  Gordon's  father." 

The  man  began  to  laugh. 

"  Say,  don't  it  beat  all,  Miss  Hazel,  stealin'  your  own 
father?  How  'ud  you  fancy  stealin'  Mr.  Mallinsbee? 
Gee!  Mr.  Gordon's  a  dandy.  He  sure  is.  He's  a 
real  bright  feller,  and  I  like  him.  What's  the  next  play, 
Miss?" 

"  Goodness  only  knows,"  cried  Hazel.  Then  she  began 
to  laugh.  "  Some  harebrained,  mad  scheme,  or  it  wouldn't 
be  Gordon's.  Anyway,  you  made  it  plain  I'm  to  look  after 
the  —  prisoner?  " 


274  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  Sure.  I  also  told  him  it  would  cost  him  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars  before  he  gets  out  of  here/' 

Hazel  nodded  and  laughed. 

"  It'll  do  that."  Then  she  sighed.  "  It'll  take  me  all 
my  wits  keeping  him  from  guessing  I'm  concerned  in  it.  I 
don't  know.  Well,  good-night,  Bud.  You're  going  back 
to  the  ranch  now.  You've  only  one  of  the  boys  here? 
That's  right.  Which  is  it?  Sid  Blake?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss.  I  left  Sid.  You  see,  he's  bright,  and  up 
to  any  play  you  need.  I'll  get  around  once  each  day. 
Good-night,  Miss." 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   BOOM    IN    EARNEST 

It  was  late  in  the  evening.  The  lonely  house  at  Buffalo 
Point  stood  out  in  dim  relief  against  the  purpling  shades  of 
dusk.  At  that  hour  of  the  evening  the  distant  outline  of 
Snake's  Fall  was  lost  in  the  gray  to  the  eastwards.  South, 
there  were  only  the  low  grass  hillocks,  now  blended  into  one 
definite  skyline.  To  the  westward,  the  sharp  outline  of  the 
mountains  was  still  silhouetted  against  the  momentarily 
dulling  afterglow  of  sunset.  The  evening  was  still,  with 
that  wonderful  silence  which  ever  prevails  at  such  an  hour 
upon  the  open  prairie. 

A  light  shone  in  the  window  of  the  hitherto  closed  office 
at  Buffalo  Point,  and,  furthermore,  a  rig  stood  at  the  door 
with  a  team  of  horses  attached  thereto,  which  latter  did  not 
belong  to  Mike  Callahan. 

An  atmosphere  not,  perhaps,  so  much  of  secrecy  as  of 
portent  seemed  to  hang  about  the  place.  The  solitary  light 
in  the  surroundings  of  gathering  night  seemed  significant. 
Then  the  team,  too,  waiting  ready  to  depart  at  a  moment's 
notice.  But  above  all,  perhaps,  this  was  the  first  time  a  sign 
of  life  had  been  visible  in  the  house  since  the  closing  down 
at  the  moment  when  Slosson's  sudden  plunge  into  the  real 
estate,  world  of  Snake's  Fall  had  apparently  swept  all  rivalry 
from  his  triumphant  path. 

Of  a  truth,  a  portentous  moment  had  arrived  in  the  affairs 
of  those  interested  in  Buffalo  Point.  And  the  significance 


276  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

of  it  was  displayed  in  the  earnest  faces  of  the  four  men 
gathered  together  in  the  office.  Silas  Mallinsbee  sat  smok- 
ing in  his  own  armchair,  and  with  a  profound  furrow  of 
concentration  upon  his  broad  forehead.  His  usually  thrust- 
ing chin-beard  rested  upon  the  front  of  his  shirt  by  rea- 
son of  the  intent  inclination  of  his  great  head.  Mike 
Callahan  was  seated  on  a  small  chair  his  elbows  resting 
upon  his  parted  knees,  and  his  chin  supported  upon  the 
knuckles  of  his  locked  fingers.  His  eyes  were  intently  fixed 
upon  the  desk,  behind  which  Gordon  was  frowning  over  a 
sheet  of  paper,  upon  which  the  scratching  of  his  pen  made 
itself  distinctly  audible  in  the  silence.  Peter  McSwain,  the 
fourth  conspirator,  was  still  suffering  from  a  fictitious  heat, 
and  was  comfortably,  but  wakefully,  snoring  under  its  in- 
fluence, with  a  sort  of  nasal  ticking  noise  which  harmoni- 
ously blended  with  the  scratching  of  Gordon's  pen. 

It  was  fairly  obvious  that  the  work  Gordon  was  engaged 
upon  was  the  central  interest  of  all  present,  for  every  eye 
was  steadily,  almost  anxiously,  riveted  upon  the  movement 
of  his  pen. 

After  a  long  time  Gordon  looked  up,  and  a  half  smile 
shone  in  his  blue  eyes. 

"  Give  us  a  light,  some  one,"  he  demanded,  as  he  turned 
his  sheet  of  paper  over  on  the  blotting-pad,  and  drew  his 
code  book  from  an  inner  pocket  and  laid  it  beside  it. 

Mike  Callahan  produced  and  struck  the  required  match. 
He  held  it  while  Gordon  re-lit  his  half -burned  cigar,  which 
had  gone  out  under  the  pressure  of  thought  its  owner  had 
been  putting  forth. 

"  Good/'  the  latter  exclaimed,  as  the  tobacco  glowed 
under  the  draught  of  his  powerful  lungs.  Then  he  turned 
the  paper  over  again.  "  Guess  I  got  it  fixed.  I  haven't 


THE  BOOM  IN  EARNEST  277 

coded  it  yet,  but  I'll  read  it  out.     It's  to  Spenser  Harker, 
my  father's  chief  man." 

"  Cancel  all  previous  arrangements  made  through  Slos- 
son  for  Snake's  Fall.  Take  following  instructions.  Have 
bought  heavily  at  Buffalo  Point,  which  is  right  on  the  coal- 
fields. Depot  to  be  built  at  once  at  Buffalo  Point.  Make 
all  arrangements  for  dispatch  of  engineers  and  surveyors  at 
once.  There  must  be  no  delay  in  starting  a  boom.  My 
son,  Gordon,  is  here  to  represent  our  interests.  Put  this  to 
the  general  manager  of  the  Union  Grayling  and  Ukataw, 
and  yourself  see  no  delay.  Am  going  on  to  coast  on  urgent 
affairs.  Gordon  has  the  matter  well  in  hand  and  will  con- 
trol at  this  end.  This  should  be  a  big  coup  for  us. 

"  JAMES  CARBHOY." 

As  Gordon  finished  reading  he  glanced  round  at  his  com- 
panions' faces  through  the  smoke  of  his  cigar.  Mike  was 
audibly  sniggering.  Mallinsbee's  eyes  were  smiling  in  that 
twinkling  fashion  which  deep-set  eyes  seem  so  capable  of. 
As  for  Peter  McSwain,  from  sheer  force  of  habit  he  drew 
forth  a  colored  handkerchief  and  mopped  his  grinning  eyes. 

"  You  ain't  going  to  send  that  ?  "  he  said  incredulously. 

"Why  not?" 

"But  —  that  piece  about  yourself?"  grinned  Mike. 
"  You  darsen't  to  do  it." 

"  I  think  I  get  his  point,"  nodded  Mallinsbee,  his  broad 
face  beaming  admiration.  "  Sort  of  local  color,  I  guess." 

Gordon  twisted  his  cigar  from  one  corner  of  his  mouth 
to  the  other.  His  blue  eyes  were  shining  with  a  sort  of 
earnest  amusement.  His  sharp  white  teeth  were  gripping 
the  mangled  end  of  his  cigar  firmly. 


278  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  Say,  fellows,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  thought,  "  I'm 
kind  of  wondering  if  you  get  just  what  this  thing  means 
to  me.  It  just  needs  a  sum  in  dollars  to  get  its  meaning 
to  you.  But  for  me  it's  different.  I  need  to  make  dollars, 
too.  But  still  it's  different.  You  see,  some  day  I've  got 
to  sit  right  in  my  father's  chair,  and  run  things  with  a 
capital  of  millions  of  dollars.  But  before  I  do  that  I've 
got  to  get  right  up  and  convince  my  father  I  can  handle 
the  work  right.  He  doesn't  figure  I  can  act  that  way  - 
yet.  So  it's  up  to  me  to  show  him  I  can.  Well,  I've 
started  in,  and  I'm  going  to  see  the  game  through  to  the 
end.  I've  backed  my  wits  to  push  this  boat  right  into 
harbor  safe.  And  in  doin'  that  I've  got  to  squeeze  the 
biggest  financier  in  the  country.  When  I've  done  it  right, 
that  financier  will  know  he  can  hand  over  his  particular 
craft  to  my  steering  without  fear  of  my  running  it  on  the 
rocks.  The  dollars  I  need  to  make  out  of  this  are  just  a 
circumstance.  They  are  the  outward  sign  of  my  fitness 
for  my  father's  edification.  That  piece  about  my  repre- 
senting my  father  isn't  just  local  color  either.  I  actually 
intend  to  assume  that  character,  and,  from  now  on,  I  in- 
tend to  work  direct  with  headquarters,  ordering  the  whole 
transaction  for  the  railroad  myself  in  my  own  name.  Do 
you  get  me?  From  now  on  I  am  my  father's  representa- 
tive. If  Spenser  Harker  chooses  to  come  right  along  here, 
if  the  general  manager  of  the  Union  Grayling  chooses  to 
come  along,  I  shall  meet  them,  and  insist  that  the  work 
goes  through.  You  see,  I  am  my  father's  son,  I  am  still 
his  secretary,  and  they  have  word  in  private  code  from 
my  father  that  I  represent  him.  There  can  be  no  debate. 
All  they  know  of  me  is  that  I  left  New  York  on  confidential 
work  for  my  father.  Well,  this,  I  guess,  is  the  confiden- 


THE  BOOM  IN  EARNEST  279 

tial  work.  Gentlemen,  we've  simply  got  to  sit  right  back 
and  help  ourselves  to  our  profits.  And  while  we're  do- 
ing that,  why,  I  guess  the  dear  old  dad  is  taking  his  well- 
earned  vacation  in  the  hills,  while  David  Slosson  is  feel- 
ing a  nasty  draught  through  the  chinks  in  an  old  adobe 
and  log  shack  which  I  hope  will  blow  the  foul  odors  out 
of  his  fouler  mind.  You  can  leave  the  after  part  of  this 
play  safely  in  my  hands.  Meanwhile,  if  you'll  just  give 
me  five  minutes  I'll  code  this  message.  Then  we'll  drive 
right  into  town  and  send  it  over  the  wire." 

Sunday  in  an  obscure  country  hotel  on  the  western  plains 
is  usually  the  dullest  thing  on  earth.  The  habit  of  years 
is  a  whitewash  of  respectability  and  a  moderation  of  tone, 
both  assumed  through  the  medium  of  a  complete  change 
of  attire  from  that  worn  during  the  week.  There  is  noth- 
ing on  earth  but  the  loss  by  fire,  or  the  definite  destruc- 
tion of  them,  which  will  stop  the  citizen,  who  possesses  such 
things,  from  arraying  himself  in  a  "  best  suit."  It  is  the 
outward  sign  of  an  attempted  cleansing  of  the  soul.  There 
can  be  no  doubt  of  it.  That  suit  is  not  adjusted  for  the 
purpose  of  holiday  enjoyment.  That  is  quite  plain.  For 
each  man  is  as  careful  not  to  do  anything  that  can  destroy 
the  crease  down  his  trousers,  as  he  is  not  to  sit  on  the  tails 
of  his  well-brushed  Prince  Albert  coat. 

The  day  is  spent  in  just  "  sitting  around."  The  citi- 
zen will  talk.  That  is  not  calculated  to  spoil  his  suit.  He 
will  even  write  his  mail  after  a  careful  adjustment  of  the 
knees  of  his  trousers.  He  will  sneak  into  the  bar  by  a 
back  door  to  obtain  an  "  eye-opener."  This,  again,  will 
involve  no  great  risk  to  his  suit.  Then  he  will  dine  liber- 
ally off  roast  turkey  and  pie  of  some  sort.  If  the  hotel  is 


280  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

fairly  well  priced  he  will  even  get  an  ice-cream  with  his 
midday  dinner.  In  the  afternoon  he  will  again  sit  around 
and  talk.  He  may  even  venture  a  walk.  Then  conies  the 
evening  supper.  It  is  the  worst  function  of  a  dreary  day 
—  a  meal  made  up  of  cakes,  preserves,  tea  or  coffee,  and  any 
cold  meats  left  over  during  the  week. 

After  that  the  "  best  suits  "  somehow  seem  to  fade  out 
of  sight,  and  a  generally  looser  tone  prevails. 

Such  had  been  the  Sundays  in  Snake's  Fall  since  ever 
the  town  had  boasted  an  hotel  with  boarding  accommoda- 
tion. No  guest  had  ever  dared  to  break  through  the  tra- 
dition. It  would  have  required  heroic  courage  to  have 
done  so.  But  now  changes  in  the  town  were  rapidly  tak- 
ing place.  So  rapidly,  indeed,  that  the  times  might  well 
have  been  characterized  as  "  breathless/' 

On  this  particular  Sunday  a  perfect  revolution  was  in 
progress.  Amongst  the  older  inhabitants  who  managed 
to  drift  to  the  vicinity  of  the  hotel  a  feeling  of  unreality 
took  possession  of  them,  and  they  wondered  if  it  were  not 
some  curious  and  not  altogether  pleasant  dream.  The  hotel 
was  thronged  with  a  blending  of  strangers  and  townspeo- 
ple, clad,  regardless  of  the  day,  in  a  state  of  excitement  such 
as  might  only  have  been  expected  at  the  declaration  of  a 
world  war,  or  a  presidential  election. 

It  was  the  culmination  of  the  excitement  inspired  orig- 
inally by  the  news  of  Slosson's  defection,  and  which,  in 
the  course  of  less  than  a  week,  had  been  augmented  by  hap- 
penings in  swift  and  rapid  succession,  such  as  set  sober 
business  men  wondering  if  they  were  living  on  a  volcano 
instead  of  a  coalmine,  or  if  the  days  of  miracles  had  in- 
deed returned  upon  the  world. 

Well  before  the  excitement  over  Slosson  had  died  down 


THE  BOOM  IN  EARNEST  281 

it  became  known  that  the  Buffalo  Point  interests  were  at 
work  again.  Mallinsbee's  office  was  opened  once  more. 
Furthermore,  he  had  acquired  two  clerks,  and  was  secur- 
ing others  from  down  east.  This  was  more  than  signifi- 
cant. It  attracted  every  eye  in  the  new  direction.  Men 
strove  to  solve  the  question  with  regard  to  its  relation- 
ship to  Slosson's  going.  The  thought  which  promptly 
came  to  each  mind  was  that  Slosson's  going  was  less  a 
miracle  than  a  natural  disappearance.  His  wild  buying  had 
inspired  doubt  from  the  first.  The  man  had  gone  crazy, 
and  his  employers  had  turned  him  down.  So  he  had  bolted. 
The  opening  of  Buffalo  Point  warned  them  that  the  rail- 
road had  in  consequence  come  to  terms  with  Mallinsbee. 
So  there  had  been  a  fresh  rush  for  information  in  that  di- 
rection. 

But  this  rush  received  no  encouragement  and  less  infor- 
mation, and  the  sorely  tried  speculators  were  once  more 
flung  back  into  their  own  outer  darkness. 

Then  came  the  next,  the  culminating  excitement.  The 
news  drifted  into  the  place  from  outside  sources.  It  came 
from  agents  and  friends  in  the  east.  Surveyors  and  engi- 
neers and  construction  gangs  were  about  to  be  sent  to 
Buffalo  Point!  The  news  was  quite  definite,  quite  de- 
cided. It  was  more.  It  was  accompanied  by  peremptory 
orders  and  urgent  requests  that  those  who  were  on  the  spot 
should  get  in  on  the  Buffalo  Point  township  without  a  mo- 
ment's delay,  and  price  was  not  to  hinder  them. 

Had  it  been  needed,  there  were  no  two  people  in  the 
whole  of  Snake's  Fall  better  placed  for  the  dissemination 
and  exaggeration  of  the  news  than  Peter  McSwain  at  the 
hotel  and  Mike  Callahan  at  the  livery  barn.  Nor  were  they 
idle.  Nor  did  they  miss  a  single  opportunity. 


282  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

In  the  office  of  the  hotel,  while  service  was  on  at  the 
little  church,  and  all  the  \vomenfolk  and  children  were  sing- 
ing their  tender  hearts  out  in  an  effort  to  get  an  appetite 
for  Sunday's  dinner,  Peter  was  the  center  of  observation 
amidst  a  crowd  of  bitterly  complaining  commercial  sin- 
ners, each  with  his  own  particular  ax  to  grind  and  a  des- 
perate grievance  against  the  crooks  who  were  rigging  the 
land  markets  in  the  neighborhood  for  their  own  sordid 
profit.  He  was  holding  forth,  debating  point  for  point, 
and,  as  he  would  have  described  it  himself,  "  boosting  the 
old  boat  over  a  heavy  sea." 

Some  one  had  suggested  that  Buffalo  Point  had  been  in 
league  with  Slosson  to  hold  up  the  situation,  while  the 
former  completed  their  own  arrangements  to  the  detriment 
of  the  community.  Peter  promptly  jumped  in. 

"  Say,  youse  fellers  are  all  sorts  of  '  smarts/  anyway," 
he  said,  with  a  pitying  sort  of  contempt.  "  What  you  need 
is  gilt-edged  finance.  You're  scared  to  death  pulling  the 
chestnuts  out  o'  the  fire.  You're  mostly  looking  for  a 
thousand  per  cent,  result,  with  only  a  five  per  cent,  courage. 
That's  just  about  your  play.  What's  the  use  in  settin' 
around  here  talking  murder  when  the  plums  are  lyin' 
around?  Pick  'em  up,  I  says.  Pick  'em  right  up  an'  get 
your  back  teeth  into  'em  so  the  juice  jest  trickles  right 
over  your  Sunday  suits.  They're  there  for  you.  Just 
grab.  I'm  tired  of  talk.  The  truth  is,  some  o'  youse  feelin' 
you've  burnt  your  fingers  over  Slosson.  Slosson  was  the 
railroad's  agent.  Your  five  per  cent,  minds  saw  the  gild- 
ing in  following  Slosson.  When  he  skipped  out  with  my 
team  you  were  stung  bad.  You've  got  stakes  in  Snake's, 
while  you're  finding  out  now  the  railroad  ain't  moved  that 
way.  An'  so  you're  just  scared  to  death  to  show  the  color 


THE  BOOM  IN  EARNEST  283 

of  your  paper  till  you  see  the  depot  built  and  the  locomo- 
tives passing  this  place  ringing  a  chorus  of  welcome  for 
Buffalo.  Then  where  are  you  ?  You're  going  to  pay  sucker 
prices  then,  or  get  right  back  east  with  a  big  debit  for 
wasted  board  and  time.  I'm  takin'  a  chance  myself,  and 
it  ain't  with  any  five  per  cent,  courage.  I  got  a  big  stake  in 
both  places,  and  I  don't  care  a  continental  where  they  build 
the  depot." 

Mike  Callahan  was  talking  in  much  the  same  strain  in 
the  neighborhood  of  his  barn,  which  somehow  always  be- 
came a  sort  of  Sunday  meeting-place  for  loungers  seek- 
ing information.  But  Mike,  acting  on  instructions,  went 
much  further.  He  spoke  of  the  reports  of  the  movements 
of  the  railroad's  engineers  and  surveyors.  He  assured  his 
hearers  he  had  had  definite  word  of  it  himself,  and  then 
added  a  hint  that  started  something  in  the  nature  of  a  panic 
amongst  his  audience. 

"  It  ain't  no  use  in  guessing,"  he  said  from  his  seat  on 
an  upturned  bucket  at  the  open  door  of  his  barn.  "  I  ain't 
got  loose  cash  to  fling  around.  Mine  is  just  locked  right 
up  in  hossflesh  and  rigs,  so  I  ain't  got  no  ax  needs  sharpen- 
ing. But  I  drive  folks  around  and  I  hear  them  yarning. 
I  drove  a  crowd  out  to  Mallinsbee's  place  —  the  office  at 
Buffalo  Point  yesterday.  They  were  guests  of  his.  They 
were  talkin'  depots  and  things  the  whole  way.  Say,  ever 
heard  the  name  of  Carbhoy?  Any  of  youse?  " 

Some  one  assured  him  that  Carbhoy  was  President  of  the 
Union  road,  and  Mike  winked. 

"  Jest  so,"  he  observed.  "  As  sure  as  St.  Patrick  drove 
the  snakes  out  of  Ireland,  one  of  that  gang  was  called 
'  Carbhoy.'  I  heard  one  of  'em  use  the  name.  And  I 
heard  the  feller  called  '  Carbhoy '  tell  him  to  close  his  map. 


284  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

Not  just  in  them  words,  but  the  sort  of  words  a  millionaire 
might  use.  That  gang  are  guests  of  Mallinsbee.  Wher' 
they  are  now  I  can't  say.  I  didn't  drive  'em  back." 

It  was  small  enough  wonder  that  the  conflagration  of  ex- 
citement fairly  swallowed  up  the  town  of  vultures.  The 
Buffalo  Point  interests  intended  it  to  do  so.  Nor  could 
their  agents  have  been  better  selected.  They  were  estab- 
lished citizens  who  came  into  contact  with  the  whole  float- 
ing population  of  the  place.  They  were  above  suspicion, 
and  they  just  simply  laughed  and  talked  and  pushed  their 
pinpricks  home,  preparing  the  way  for  the  denouement. 

On  the  Monday  following,  the  effect  of  their  work  be- 
gan to  show  itself.  Amongst  other  visitations  Mallinsbee 
was  invaded  by  a  deputation  representing  large  real-estate 
interests. 

Under  Gordon's  management  the  office  had  been  entirely 
converted.  Now  the  original  parlor  office  had  been  turned 
over  to  the  use  of  the  clerical  staff.  The  bedroom  Gor- 
don had  occupied  had  become  Mallinsbee's  private  office, 
and  the  other  bedroom  had  been  made  into  an  office  for 
Gordon  himself.  There  was  no  longer  any  appearance  of 
a  makeshift  about  the  place.  It  was  an  organized  commer- 
cial establishment  ready  for  the  transaction  of  any  business, 
from  battling  with  a  royal  eagle  of  commerce  down  to  the 
plucking  of  the  half-fledged  pigeon. 

The  deputation  arrived  in  the  morning,  and  consisted 
of  Mr.  Cyrus  P.  Laker  and  Mr.  Abe  Chester.  These  two 
men  represented  two  Chicago  real-estate  corporations  who 
were  prepared  to  shed  dollars  that  ran  into  six  figures  in  a 
"  right "  enterprise. 

The  rancher  had  been  notified  of  their  coming,  and  had 
sat  in  consultation  with  Gordon  for  half  an  hour  before 


THE  BOOM  IN  EARNEST  285 

their  arrival.  When  the  clerk  showed  them  into  Mallins- 
bee's  private  office  they  found  him  fully  equipped,  with  his 
hideous  patch  over  one  eye,  and  Gordon  sitting  near  by  at 
a  small  table  under  the  window. 

Abe  Chester  overflowed  the  chair  the  clerk  set  for  him, 
and  Laker  possessed  himself  of  another.  They  were  in 
sharp  contrast,  these  two.  One  was  lean  and  tall,  the  other 
was  squat  and  breathed  asthmatically.  But  both  were  men 
of  affairs,  and  equal  to  every  move  in  a  deal. 

The  tall  man  opened  the  case,  with  his  keen  eyes  search- 
ing the  baffling  face  of  the  rancher.  Just  for  one  moment 
he  had  doubtfully  eyed  Gordon's  figure,  so  intently  bent 
over  his  work,  but  Mallinsbee  had  reassured  him  with  the 
words,  "  My  confidential  secretary." 

Mr.  Laker  assumed  an  air  of  simple  frankness.. 

"  Our  errand  is  a  simple  one,  Mr.  Mallinsbee,"  he  began 
in  hollow  tones  which  seemed  to  emanate  from  somewhere 
in  the  region  of  his  highly  shined  shoes.  Then  he  smiled 
vaguely,  a  smile  which  Gordon  mentally  registered  as  be- 
ing "  childlike,"  as  he  observed  it  out  of  the  corners  of 
his  eyes.  "  We  are  looking  for  two  little  pieces  of  infor- 
mation which  you,  as  a  business  man,  will  appreciate  as  be- 
ing a  justifiable  search  on  our  part.  You  see,  we  are  open 
to  negotiating  a  deal  of  several  hundred  thousand  dollars, 
of  course  depending  on  the  information  being  satisfac- 
tory." 

"  There's  several  rumors  afloat  that  maybe  you  can  con- 
firm or  deny,"  broke  in  Abe  Chester  shortly.  His  con- 
frere's "  high-brow  "  methods,  as  he  termed  them,  irritated 
him. 

"  Just  so,"  agreed  Laker  suavely.  "  Two  rumors  which 
affect  the  situation  very  nearly.  The  first  is,  is  it  a  fact 


286  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

that  the  President  of  the  Union  Grayling  and  Ukataw  Rail- 
road is  your  guest  at  the  present  moment?  The  second 
is,  there  is  a  rumor  afloat  that  the  railroad  company  are 
actually  preparing  to  build  their  depot  here.  Is  this 
so?"  " 

Mallinsbee's  expression  was  annoyingly  obscure.  Mr. 
Laker  felt  that  he  was  smiling,  but  Abe  Chester  was  con- 
vinced that  a  smile  was  not  within  a  mile  of  his  large  fea- 
tures. Both  men  were  agreed,  however,  that  they  dis- 
trusted that  eye-patch. 

Gordon  awaited  the  rancher's  reply  with  amused  patience. 
It  came  in  the  rumbling,  heavy  voice  so  like  an  organ  note, 
after  a  duly  thoughtful  pause. 

"'Well,  gentlemen/'  he  said,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
has  bestowed  a  weight  of  consideration  upon  his  answer, 
"  you  have  put  what  a  legal  mind  maybe  'ud  consider  '  lead- 
ing '  questions.  Not  having  a  legal  mind,  but  just  the  mind 
of  an  honest  trader,  I'll  say  they  certainly  are  some  ques- 
tions. However,  it  don't  seem  to  me  they'll  prejudice  a 
thing  answering  'em  straight.  You  are  yearning  to  deal 
—  well,  so  am  I ;  an'  if  my  answer's  going  to  help  things 
that  way,  why,  I  thank  you  for  asking.  Mr.  Carbhoy  is 
my  guest  at  this  moment.  How  long  he'll  remain  my  guest 
I  can't  just  say.  You  see,  he's  going  along  to  the  coast 
when  we're  through  fixing  things  right  for  Buffalo  Point. 
That  answers  your  first  question,  I  guess.  The  second's 
even  easier.  The  railroad's  engineers  will  be  right  here 
with  plans  and  specifications  and  materials  and  workers 
for  building  the  depot  at  Buffalo  Point  on  Wednesday 
noon!' 

Abe  Chester  drew  a  short  asthmatical  breath.  His  leaner 
companion  smiled  cadaverously. 


THE  BOOM  IN  EARNEST  287 

"  Then  it  will  give  us  both  much  pleasure  to  talk  busi- 
ness," said  the  latter. 

"  Sure/'  agreed  Chester,  sparing  words  which  cost  him 
so  much  breath,  of  which  he  possessed  such  a  small  sup- 
ply. 

Mallinsbee  pushed  cigars  towards  them.  He  felt  the  oc- 
casion needed  their  moral  support. 

"  Help  yourselves,  gentlemen,"  he  said.  "  Guess  it'll 
make  us  talk  better.  There's  a  whole  heap  of  talk  com- 
ing." 

The  two  men  helped  themselves,  tenderly  pressing  the 
cigars  and  smelling  them.  The  rancher  took  one  himself, 
with  the  certainty  of  its  quality,  and  lit  it. 

"A  lot  to  talk  about?  "  inquired  Mr.  Laker,  not  without 
misgivings. 

"  Why,  yes."  The  rancher  pulled  deeply  at  his  cigar 
and  examined  the  ash  thoughtfully.  "  Yes,"  he  went  on 
after  a  moment,  "  I  guess  I'll  have  to  say  quite  a  piece  be- 
fore you  talk  money.  You  see,  I'd  just  like  you  to  under- 
stand the  position.  It's  perhaps  a  bit  difficult.  This 
scheme  has  been  lying  around  quite  a  time,  inviting  folks 
to  put  money  into  it  at  a  profitable  price  to  themselves. 
A  number  of  wise  friends  of  mine  have  taken  the  oppor- 
tunity and  are  in,  good  and  snug.  There's  a  number  of 
others  hadn't  the  grit.  Maybe  I  don't  just  blame  them. 
You  see,  it  was  some  gamble,  and  needed  folks  who  could 
take  a  chance.  Wall,  those  days  are  past.  There's  no 
gamble  now.  It's  a^  good  as  American  double  eagles. 
You  see,  Snake's  will  just  become  a  sort  of  flag  station, 
while  Buffalo  Point  will  sit  around  in  a  halo  of  glory  with 
a  brand-new  swell  depot.  It's  been  some  work  handling 
this  proposition,  and  the  folks  interested,  including  the 


288  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

Bude  and  Sideley  Coal  Company,  need  a  deal  of  compensa- 
tion for  their  work.  Personally,  I  am  not  selling  a  single 
frontage  now  until  the  depot  is  well  on  the  way.  In  short, 
I  need  a  fancy  price.  In  conclusion,  gentlemen,  let  me  say 
quite  plainly  that  what  I  would  have  sold  originally  for 
three  figures  will  now,  or  rather  when  the  time  comes,  cost 
four  —  and  maybe  even  five." 

"  You  mean  to  shut  us  out,"  snapped  Abe  Chester. 

"Is  it  graft?"  inquired  Laker,  with  something  between 
a  sneer  and  anger. 

"  Call  it  what  you  like,"  said  Mallinsbee  coldly.  "  I've 
told  you  the  plain  facts,  as  I  shall  tell  everybody  else. 
Those  who  want  to  get  in  on  the  Buffalo  Point  boom  will 
have  to  pay  money  for  it  —  good  money.  I  think  that  is 
all  I  have  to  say,  gentlemen." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A    TRIFLE 

Few  men  were  less  given  to  dreaming  than  James  Carb- 
hoy.  Usually  he  had  no  spare  time  on  his  hands  for  such 
a  pastime.  Dreams?  Well,  perhaps  he  occasionally  let 
imagination  run  riot  amidst  seas  of  amazing  figures,  but 
that  was  all.  All  other  dreams  left  him  cold.  Now  it  was 
different. 

He  was  reclining  in  an  old-fashioned  rocker  chair  out- 
side the  front  door  of  his  prison.  The  air  of  the  valley  was 
soft  and  balmy,  the  sun  was  setting,  and  a  wealth  of  ever- 
changing  colors  tinted  the  distant  mountain-tops ;  a  wonder- 
ful sense  of  peace  and  security  reigned  everywhere.  So, 
somehow,  he  found  himself  dreaming. 

He  filled  the  chair  almost  to  overflowing  and  reveled  in 
its  comfort,  just  as  he  reveled  in  the  comfort  even  of  his 
prison.  His  hands  were  clasped  behind  his  iron-gray 
head,  and  he  drank  deeply  of  the  pleasant,  perfumed  air. 
His  captivity  had  already  exceeded  three  weeks,  and  the 
first  irritation  of  it  had  long  since  passed,  leaving  in  its 
place  a  philosophic  resignation  characteristic  of  the  man. 
He  no  longer  strove  seriously  to  solve  the  problem  of  his 
detention.  During  the  first  days  of  his  captivity  he  had 
thought  hard,  and  the  contemplation  of  possible  disaster  to 
many  enterprises  resulting  from  this  enforced  absence  had 
troubled  him  seriously,  but  as  the  days  wore  on  and  no 


2QO  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

word  came  from  his  captors  his  resignation  quietly  set  in, 
and  gradually  a  pleasant  peace  reigned  in  place  of  stormy 
feelings. 

James  Carbhoy  possessed  a  considerable  humor  for  a 
man  who  spent  his  life  in  multiplying,  subtracting  and 
adding  numerals  which  represented  the  sum  of  his  gains 
and  losses  in  currency,  and  perhaps  it  was  this  which  so 
largely  helped  him.  His  temperament  should  undoubtedly 
have  been  at  once  harsh,  sternly  unyielding  and  bitterly 
avaricious.  In  reality  it  was  none  of  these  things.  It 
was  his  lot  to  cause  money  to  make  money,  and  the  work 
of  it  was  something  in  the  nature  of  an  amusement.  He 
was  warm-hearted  and  human ;  he  loved  battle  and  the  spirit 
of  competition.  Then,  too,  he  possessed  a  deplorable  love 
for  the  knavery  of  modern  financial  methods.  This  was  the 
underlying  temperament  which  governed  all  his  actions, 
and  a  warm,  human  kindliness  saved  him  from  many  of 
the  pitfalls  into  which  such  a  temperament  might  well  have 
trapped  him. 

As  he  sat  there  basking  in  the  evening  sunlight  he  felt 
that  on  the  whole  he  rather  owed  his  captors  a  debt  of  grati- 
tude for  introducing  him  to  a  side  of  life  which  otherwise 
he  might  never  have  come  into  contact  with.  He  knew  at 
the  same  time  that  such  a  feeling  was  just  as  absurd  as 
that  the  spirit  of  fierce  resentment  had  so  easily  died  down 
within  him.  All  his  interests  were  dependent  upon  his  own 
efforts  for  success,  and  here  he  was  shut  up,  a  prisoner, 
with  these  very  affairs,  for  all  he  knew,  going  completely 
to  the  dogs. 

His  conflicting  feelings  made  him  smile,  and  here  it  was 
that  his  humor  served  him.  After  all,  what  did  it  mat- 
ter? He  knew  that  some  one  had  bested  him.  It  was 


A  TRIFLE  291 

not  the  first  time  in  his  life  that  he  had  been  bested.  Not 
by  any  means.  But  always  in  such  cases  he  had  ultimately 
made  up  the  leeway  and  gained  on  the  reach.  Well,  he 
supposed  he  would  do  so  again.  So  he  rested  content  and 
submitted  to  the  pleasant  surroundings  of  his  captivity. 

There  was  one  feature  of  his  position,  however,  which 
he  seriously  did  resent.  It  was  a  feature  which  even  his 
humor  could  not  help  him  to  endure  with  complacency.  It 
was  the  simple  presence  of  a  Chinaman  near  him.  He  cor- 
dially detested  Chinamen  —  so  much  so  that,  in  all  his  great 
financial  undertakings,  he  did  not  possess  one  cent  of  inter- 
est in  any  Chinese  enterprise. 

Hip-Lee  was  maddeningly  ubiquitous.  There  was  no  es- 
cape from  him.  If  the  millionaire's  fellow  prisoner,  the 
pretty  teamstress,  entered  his  room  to  wait  on  him  —  and 
their  captors  seemed  to  have  forced  such  service  upon  her 
—  Hip-Lee  was  her  shadow.  If  he  himself  elected  to  go 
for  a  walk  through  the  valley  —  a  freedom  accorded  him 
from  the  first  —  there  was  not  a  moment  but  what  a  glance 
over  his  shoulder  would  have  revealed  the  lurking,  silent, 
furtive  figure  in  its  blue  smock,  watchful  of  his  every  move- 
ment, while  apparently  occupied  in  anything  but  that  pecu- 
liar form  of  pastime.  James  Carbhoy  resented  this  sur- 
veillance bitterly.  Nor  did  he  doubt  that  beneath  that  sim- 
ple blue  smock  a  long  knife  was  concealed,  and,  probably, 
a  desire  for  murder. 

However,  nothing  of  this  was  concerning  him  now.  The 
hour  was  the  hour  of  peace.  The  perfection  of  the  scene 
he  was  gazing  upon  had  cast  its  spell  about  him,  and  he 
was  dreaming  —  really  dreaming  of  nothing.  The  joy  of 
living  was  upon  him,  and,  for  the  time  being,  nothing  else 
mattered. 


292  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

In  the  midst  of  his  dreaming  the  sound  of  a  footstep 
coming  round  the  angle  of  the  building  to  his  right  roused 
him  to  full  alertness.  He  glanced  round  quickly  and  with- 
drew his  hands  from  behind  his  head.  Mechanically  he 
drew  his  cigar-case  from  an  inner  pocket  and  selected  a 
cigar.  But  he  was  expectant  and  curious,  his  feelings  in- 
spired by  his  knowledge  that  Hip-Lee  always  moved  sound- 
lessly. 

His  eyes  were  upon  the  limits  of  the  house  when  the  in- 
truder materialized.  Promptly  a  wave  of  pleasurable  re- 
lief swept  over  him  as  he  beheld  the  pretty  figure  of  his 
fellow  captive.  But  he  gave  no  sign,  for  the  reason  that 
the  girl  was  obviously  unaware  of  his  presence,  and  it  yet 
remained  to  be  seen  if  the  yellow-faced  reptile,  Hip-Lee, 
was  at  hand  as  usual. 

He  watched  her  silently.  He  was  struck,  too,  by  her  ex- 
pression of  rapt  appreciation  of  the  scene  before  her,  which 
added  further  to  his  reluctance  to  break  the  spell  of  her 
enjoyment.  But  as  the  hated  blue  smock  did  not  make  its 
appearance,  the  man  could  no  longer  resist  temptation. 
The  opportunity  was  too  good  to  miss. 

"  It's  some  scene,"  he  said  in  a  tone  calculated  not  to  star- 
tle her,  his  gray  eyes  twinkling  genially. 

But  Hazel  was  startled.  She  was  startled  more  than  she 
cared  about.  Her  one  object  was  always  to  avoid  con- 
tact with  Gordon's  father,  except  under  the  watchful  eyes, 
of  Hip-Lee.  She  feared  that  keen,  incisive  brain  she  knew 
to  lie  behind  his  steady  gray  eyes.  She  feared  questions 
her  wit  was  not  ready  enough  to  answer  without  disaster 
to  the  plans  of  her  fellow  conspirators. 

She  hated  the  part  she  was  forced  to  play,  but  she  was 
also  determined  to  play  it  with  all  her  might.  She  must 


A  TRIFLE  293 

act  now,  and  act  well.  So,  with  a  resolute  effort,  she  faced 
her  victim. 

"I  —  I  just  didn't  know  you  were  here,  sir,"  she  said 
truthfully,  while  her  eyes  lied  an  added  alarm.  "  But  — 
but  talk  low,  or  the " 

"  You're  worrying  over  that  mongrel  Chink,"  said  Carb- 
hoy  quickly.  "  I  expected  to  see  his  leather  features  fol- 
lowing you  around.  I  guess  he's  got  ears  as  long  as  an 
ass,  and  just  about  twice  as  sharp.  Say,  I'm  going  to  kill 
that  mouse-colored  serpent  one  of  these  times  if  he  don't 
quit  his  games.  Say " 

He  broke  off,  studying  the  girl's  pretty  face  speculatively. 
There  was  no  doubt  her  eyes  wore  a  hunted  expression  — 
she  intended  them  to. 

"  They  treating  you  —  right?  "  he  demanded. 

Hazel's  effort  was  better  than  she  knew  as  she  strove  for 
pathos. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  s'pose  so/'  she  said  hopelessly.  "  I'm  let 
alone,  and  —  I  get  good  food.  It  —  it  isn't  that." 

"What  is  it?" 

The  man's  question  came  sharply. 

Hazel  turned  her  face  to  the  hills  and  sighed.  The 
movement  was  well  calculated. 

"  It's  my  folks."  Then,  with  a  dramatic  touch,  "  Say, 
Mr.  Carbhoy,  do  you  guess  we'll  ever  —  get  out  of  this? 
Do  you  think  we'll  get  back  to  our  folks?  Sometimes  I  — 
oh,  it's  awful!" 

Her  words  carried  conviction,  and  the  man  was  taken  in. 

"  Say,"  he  said  quickly,  "  I'm  making  a  big  guess  we'll 
get  out  later  —  when  things  are  fixed.  This  is  not  a  ran- 
som. But  it  means  —  dollars." 

He  lit  his  cigar,  and  its  aroma  pleasantly  scented  the  air. 


294  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

Hazel  sighed  with  intense  feeling  —  to  disguise  her  incli- 
nation to  laugh. 

"  Yes,  sir/'  she  said  hopelessly.  "  One  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars." 

Gordon's  father  smiled  back  at  her. 

"  I'd  hate  to  think  I  was  held  up  for  less,"  he  said.  "  It 
Would  sort  of  wound  my  vanity." 

The  girl  could  have  hugged  him  for  the  serenity  of  his 
attitude.  Nothing  seemed  to  disturb  him.  She  felt  that 
Gordon  had  every  reason  for  his  devotion  to  his  father, 
a^id  ought  to  be  well  ashamed  of  himself  for  submitting  him 
to  the  outrage  which  had  been  perpetrated. 

"Who  —  who  do  you  think  has  done  this?"  she  haz- 
arded hesitatingly.  "  Slosson?  " 

"  Maybe.     Though " 

"  Slosson  should  have  met  you  himself,"  the  girl  de- 
clared emphatically. 

"  He  certainly  should,"  replied  Carbhoy,  with  cold  em- 
phasis. "  He'll  need  to  explain  that  —  later.  Say,  how 
did  you  come  to  be  driving  me?  " 

Hazel  suddenly  felt  cold  in  the  warm  air. 

"  I  was  just  engaged  to,  because  Mr.  Slosson  couldn't 
go  himself.  You  see,  father  has  a  spare  team,  and  I  do 
a  goodish  bit  of  driving.  You  see,  we  need  to  do  'most 
anything  to  get  money  here." 

"  Yes,  that's  the  way  of  things."  The  man's  eyes  were 
twinkling  again,  and  Hazel  began  to  hope  that  she  was  once 
more  on  firm  ground. 

Nor  was  she  disappointed  when  the  man  went  on. 

"  I  guess  we're  all  out  after  —  dollars,"  he  said  reflect- 
ively. Then  he  removed  his  cigar  and  luxuriously  emitted 
a  thin  spiral  smoke  from  between  his  pursed  lips.  "  It 


A  TRIFLE  295 

don't  seem  the  sort  of  work  a  girl  like  you  should  be  at, 
though.  Still,  why  not?  It's  a  great  play  —  chasing  dol- 
lars. It's  the  best  thing  in  life  —  wholesome  and  human. 
I've  always  felt  that  way  about  it,  and  as  I've  piled  up  the 
years  and  got  a  peek  into  motives  and  things  I've  felt  more 
sure  that  competition  —  that's  fixing  things  right  for  our- 
selves out  of  the  general  scrum  of  life  —  is  the  life  in- 
tended for  us  by  the  Creator." 

Hazel  nodded. 

"  Life  is  competition,"  she  observed,  with  a  wise  little 
smile. 

"  Sure.  That's  why  human  nature  is  dishonest  —  has 
to  be." 

There  was  a  question  in  the  girl's  eyes  which  the  million- 
aire was  prompt  to  detect. 

"  Sure  it's  dishonest.  Can  you  show  me  a  detail  of  hu- 
man nature  which  is  truly  honest?  Say,  I've  watched  it 
all  my  life,  I've  built  every  sort  of  construction  on  it. 
Wherever  I  have  built  in  the  belief  that  honesty  is  the 
foundation  of  human  nature  things  have  dropped  with  a 
smash.  Now  I  know,  and  my  faith  is  none  the  less.  Hu- 
man nature  is  dishonest.  It's  only  a  question  of  degree. 
I'm  dishonest.  You're  dishonest.  But  in  your  case  it's 
only  in  the  higher  ethical  sense.  You  wouldn't  steal  a 
pocket-book.  You  wouldn't  commit  murder.  But  put 
yourself  into  competition  with  a  girl  friend  baking  a  swell 
layer  cake,  calculated  to  disturb  the  digestion  of  an  ostrich. 
Say,  you'd  resort  to  any  old  trick  you  could  think  of  to 
fix  her  where  you  wanted  her." 

Hazel  laughed. 

"  I  wouldn't  shoot  her  up,  but  —  I'd  do  all  I  knew  to 
beat  her." 


296  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  Just  so." 

"  After  what's  happened  to  us  here  I  guess  human  nature 
isn't  going  to  find  a  champion  in  me,"  Hazel  went  on. 
"  Still,  it's  pretty  hard  to  lose  your  faith  in  human  nature 
that  way." 

"  Lose?  Who  said  '  lose  ' ?  "  cried  the  man,  with  a  cor- 
dial laugh.  "  Not  I.  If  I  suddenly  found  it  '  honest,' 
why,  I'd  hate  to  go  on  living.  Human  nature's  got  to  be 
just  as  it  is.  Honesty  lies  in  Nature.  That's  the  honesty 
that  folks  talk  about  and  dream  about.  It  isn't  practica- 
ble in  human  life.  Dishonesty  is  the  leavening  that  makes 
honesty,  in  the  abstract,  palatable.  Say,  think  of  it  —  if  we 
were  all  honest  like  idealists  talk  of.  What  would  we  have 
worth  living  for?  Do  you  know  what  would  happen? 
Why,  we'd  all  be  sitting  around  making  hymns  for  every- 
body else  to  sing,  till  there  was  such  an  almighty  hullabaloo 
we'd  all  get  crazy  and  have  to  sign  a  petition  to  get  it 
stopped.  We'd  all  be  fixed  up  in  a  sort  of  white  suit  that 
wouldn't  ever  need  a  laundry,  and  every  blamed  citizen 
would  start  right  in  to  turn  the  world  into  a  sort  of  hell 
by  always  telling  the  truth.  Just  think  what  it  would  mean 
if  you  had  to  tell  some  friend  of  yours  what  you  thought  of 
her  for  sneaking  your  latest  beau." 

"  It  certainly  would  be  liable  to  cause  a  deal  of  trouble," 
laughed  Hazel. 

"  Trouble  ?  I  should  say."  The  millionaire  chuckled 
softly  as  he  returned  his  cigar  to  his  mouth.  "  Say,  I  was 
reading  the  obituary  of  a  preacher  —  my  wife's  favorite 
—  the  other  day.  He  lost  his  grip  on  life  and  fell  through. 
That  reporter  boy  was  bright,  and  I  wondered  when  I 
was  reading  what  he'd  have  said  if  he'd  spoke  the  truth 
as  he  saw  it.  To  read  that  obituary  you'd  think  that 


A  TRIFLE  297 

preacher  feller  was  the  greatest  saint  ever  lived.  I  felt 
I  could  have  wept  over  that  poor  feller,  the  talk  was  so 
elegant  and  poetic.  I  just  felt  the  worst  worm  ever  lived 
beside  that  preacher.  I  felt  I  ought  to  spend  the  last  five 
dollars  I  had  to  fix  his  grave  up  with  pure  white  lilies,  if 
I  had  to  go  without  food  to  do  it.  It  was  fine.  But  the 
writer  never  said  a  word  about  that  preacher  living  in  a 
swell  house  in  Fifth  Avenue,  and  the  $20,000  he  took  every 
year  for  his  job,  and  the  elegant  automobile  he  chased 
around  to  the  houses  of  his  rich  congregation  in.  If  he'd 
died  in  the  slums  on  the  east  side  I  guess  that  newspaper 
wouldn't  ever  have  heard  of  him,  and  that  writer  wouldn't 
have  got  dollars  for  the  pretty  language  it  was  his  job  to 
scratch  together  for  such  an  occasion." 

"  It  doesn't  sound  nice  put  that  way,"  sighed  Hazel.  "  I 
suppose  it's  all  competition  even  trying  to  make  folks  live 
right.  I  suppose  that  preacher  was  successful  in  his  call- 
ing —  the  same  as  you  are  in  yours.  I  suppose  his  human 
nature  was  no  different  to  other  folks'." 

"  That's  it.  Life's  splendidly  dishonest  and  a  perfect 
sham.  Come  to  think  of  it,  Ananias  must  have  been  all 
sorts  of  a  great  man  to  be  singled  out  of  a  world  of  liars. 
On  the  other  hand,  he'd  have  had  some  rival  in  the  feller 
who  first  accused  George  Washington  of  never  lying. 
Psha!  life's  a  great  play,  and  I'd  hate  it  to  be  different  from 
what  it  is.  We're  all  just  as  dishonest  as  we  can  be  and 
still  keep  out  of  penitentiary :  which  makes  me  feel  mighty 
sorry  for  them  that  don't.  From  the  fisherman  to  the 
Sunday-school  teacher  we're  all  liars,  and  if  you  charged 
us  with  it  we'd  deny  it,  or  worse,  and  thereby  add  further 
proof  to  the  charge.  I've  thought  a  deal  over  this  hold-up, 
and  it  seems  to  me  those  guys  bluffed  us  some." 


298  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"You  mean  about  the  —  ransom,"  said  Hazel,  the  last 
sign  of  amusement  dying  swiftly  out  of  her  eyes. 

"  Why,  yes."  The  millionaire  smoked  in  silence  for 
some  moments.  Then  quite  suddenly  he  removed  the  cigar 
from  between  his  lips.  "  Maybe  you  don't  know  I'm  work- 
ing on  a  big  land  scheme  in  these  parts.  It  seems  to  me 
some  bright  gang  intend  to  roll  me  for  my  wad.  I  don't 
guess  Slosson's  in  it." 

"  Then  who  is  it,  sir  ?  "  demanded  the  girl,  with  uncon- 
scious sharpness. 

The  man's  steady  eyes  surveyed  her  through  their  half- 
closed  lids.  He  shook  his  head. 

"I  can't  just  say  —  yet.     We'll  find  out  in  good  time." 
His  smile  was  quietly  confident.     "  Anyway,  for  the  mo- 
ment some  one's  got  the  drop  on  me,  and  I'll  just  have  to 
sit    around.     But  —  it's    pretty    tough    on    you,    Miss- 
Miss " 

"  Mallinsbee,"  said  Hazel,  without  thinking. 

"Mallinsbee?" 

The  man's  gray  eyes  became  suddenly  alert,  and  Hazel 
felt  like  killing  herself.  She  believed,  in  that  one  un- 
guarded moment,  she  had  ruined  everything.  She  held  her 
breath  and  turned  quickly  towards  the  setting  sun,  lest  her 
face  should  betray  her. 

Then  her  terror  passed  as  she  heard  the  quiet,  kindly 
laugh  of  the  man  as  he  began  speaking  again. 

"  Well,  Miss  Mallinsbee,  here  we  are,  and  here  we've  just 
got  to  stay.  I  came  here  to  get  the  best  of  a  deal.  We're 
all  out  to  do  some  one  or  something,  somehow  or  some- 
where. It  don't  much  matter  who.  And  when  a  man  acts 
right  he  don't  squeal  when  the  other  feller's  on  top.  He 
just  sits  around  till  it's  his  move,  and  then  he'll  try  and 


A  TRIFLE 


299 


get  things  back.     I'm  not  squealing.     It's  my  turn  to  sit 
around  —  that's  all.     Meanwhile,  with  the  comforts  at  my 
disposal  —  good  wines,  good  cigars  and  mountain  air- 
Fm  having  some  vacation.     If  it  weren't  for  that  darned 
Chink  with  his  detestable  blue  suit  I'd " 

"  Hush !  "  Hazel  had  turned  and  held  up  a  warning 
finger. 

In  response  the  man  glanced  sharply  about  him.  There, 
sure  enough,  standing  silent  and  immovable  at  the  corner 
of  the  building,  was  the  hated  vision  of  blue  with  its  crown- 
ing features  of  dull  yellow. 

James  Carbhoy  flung  himself  back  in  his  rocker.  All  the 
humor  and  pleasure  had  been  banished  from  his  strong 
face,  and  only  disgust  remained. 

"  Oh,  hell !  "  he  exclaimed,  and  flung  his  cigar  with  all  his 
force  in  the  direction  of  the  intruder. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

ON   THE   TRAIL 

It  was  a  night  to  remember,  if  for  nothing  else  for  the 
exquisite  atmospheric  conditions  prevailing.  The  moon 
was  at  its  full,  like  some  splendid  jewel  radiating  a  silvery 
peace  upon  a  slumbering  world.  The  jeweled  sky  suggested 
the  untold  wealth  of  an  infinite  universe.  The  perfumed 
air  filled  lungs  and  nostrils  with  a  beatific  joy  in  living,  and 
the  darkened  splendor  of  the  crowding  hills  inspired,  a 
reverence  in  the  human  heart  so  profound,  that  it  left  scarce 
a  place  for  the  smallness  of  mundane  hopes  and  yearn- 
ings. The  splendor,  the  breadth  of  beauty  sank  into  the 
human  soul  and  left  the  spirit  straining  at  its  earthly  bonds, 
and  gazing  with  longing  towards  the  infinite  power  which 
ordered  its  existence. 

For  ten  miles  of  the  journey  from  the  old  ranch-house 
Hazel  rode  under  the  sublime  influence  of  feelings  so  in- 
spired. Nothing  of  the  conditions  were  new  to  her.  The 
mountain  nights  in  summer  were  as  much  a  part  of  her 
existence  as  was  the  ranching  life  of  her  home.  She  knew 
them  as  she  knew  the  work  that  filled  her  daylight  hours. 
But  their  effect  upon  her  never  varied  —  never  weakened. 
No  familiarity  with  them  could  change  that  feeling  of  the 
infinite  sublimity  somewhere  beyond  the  narrow  confines  of 
human  life.  She  drank  in  the  deep  draughts  of  perfect 
life,  she  gazed  abroad  with  shining  eyes  of  simple  happi- 
ness on  the  splendid  world,  and  a  superlative  thankfulness 


ON  THE  TRAIL  301 

to  the  Creator  of  all  things  that  life  had  been  thus  vouch- 
safed her  uplifted  her  heart  and  all  that  was  spiritual  within 
her. 

The  journey  to  her  home  was  twenty  miles,  but  her  fa- 
vorite mare  possessed  wings  so  far  as  its  mistress  was  con- 
cerned. The  distance  was  all  too  short  for  the  splendid 
young  body,  and  that  youthful  mood  of  delight.  Hazel 
reveled  in  the  expenditure  of  the  energy  required,  as  the 
mare,  beneath  her,  seemed  to  revel  in  the  physical  effort  of 
the  journey. 

For  the  greater  part  of  the  road  the  cobwebs  of  affairs 
she  was  engaged  upon  left  Hazel  indifferent.  The  de- 
light of  life  left  no  room  for  them.  But  after  the  half 
way  had  been  passed  there  came  to  her  flashes  of  thought 
which  reduced  her  feelings  to  a  more  human  mood. 

Nor  was  that  mood  of  the  easiest.  She  experienced  feel- 
ings of  disquiet,  even  alarm.  She  felt  vexed,  and  a  great 
resentment,  and  even  genuine  anger,  began  to  take  possession 
of  her.  But  these  were  interpersed  with  moments  when  a 
certain  irresponsibility  and  humor  would  not  be  denied, 
and  underlying  all  and  every  other  emotion  was  a  great 
passionate  longing,  which  she  scarcely  admitted  even  to  her- 
self. 

Her  mind  was  fixed  upon  two  men:  father  and  son. 
For  the  time  at  least,  they  were  the  pivot  of  all  things 
worldly  for  her.  In  her  thoughts  the  son  possessed  at- 
tributes little  short  of  a  demi-god,  while  the  father  had  be- 
come a  being  endowed  with  a  deep,  reflected  regard.  There 
was  room  in  her  woman's  heart  for  both  in  their  respec- 
tive places.  She  knew  she  loved  them,  and  her  variations 
of  mood  were  inspired  by  the  cruelly  farcical  atmosphere 
of  the  position  surrounding  them  both.  She  was  angry 


302  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

with  Gordon,  bitterly  angry  at  one  moment,  at  the  next  she 
reveled  in  the  exquisite  impudence  of  his  daring.  At  one 
moment  her  woman's  tender  pity  went  out  to  the  big- 
hearted  man  who  had  been  submitted  to  such  indignities 
by  his  own  son  and  herself,  and  all  those  concerned  in  the 
conspiracy,  and,  at  the  next,  she  found  herself  smiling  at 
the  humor  of  his  attitude  towards  his  persecutors.  Then, 
too,  over  all  these  complications  of  feeling  she  was  stirred 
with  alarm  at  that  painful  memory  of  the  unguarded  mo- 
ment, when,  lulled  by  her  interest  in  the  millionaire's  talk, 
she  had  admitted  her  name  to  him.  Visions  of  hideous 
possibilities  rose  before  her  eyes.  If  he  should  chance 
to  know  her  father's  name.  Why  not?  Surely  he  knew. 
But  after  that  one  sharp  interrogation  he  had  given  no 
sign. 

She  sighed  a  sort  of  half-hearted  relief,  but  remained  un- 
convinced. It  was  this  last  contingency  which  had  inspired 
her  night  journey  home.  She  had  ridden  out  the  moment 
she  had  been  certain  that  their  captive  had  retired  for  the 
night. 

There  were  still  some  eight  miles  to  go  before  the  ranch 
would  be  reached  when  Hazel  experienced  a  fright,  which 
left  her  ready  to  turn  and  flee  back  over  the  way  she  had 
come  as  swiftly  as  the  legs  of  her  mare  could  carry  her. 

On  clearing  a  bluff  of  spruce,  around  which  her  course 
lay,  in  the  full  radiance  of  the  moon's  high  noon,  she  sud- 
denly beheld  a  horseman  riding  towards  her,  a  ghostly  fig- 
ure moving  soundlessly  over  the  high  grass. 

Such  was  the  effect  of  this  vision  upon  her,  that,  be- 
yond being  able  to  bring  her  mare  to  an  abrupt  halt,  panic 
left  her  paralysed.  In  all  her  years  she  had  never  encoun- 
tered a  horseman  riding  late  at  night  in  the  mountains. 


ON  THE  TRAIL  303 

Who  was  he  ?  Who  could  he  be  ?  And  an  eerie  feeling  set 
her  flesh  creeping  at  the  ghostliness  and  noiselessness  of  his 
coming. 

She  sat  there  stupidly,  her  pretty  cheeks  ashen  in  the 
moonlight.  And  all  the  time  the  man  was  coming  nearer 
and  nearer,  traveling  the  same  trail  she  would  have  done  had 
she  pursued  her  course.  Then  an  abject  terror  surged  upon 
her.  He  must  meet  her ! 

In  an  instant  her  paralysis  left  her,  and  she  gathered  her 
reins  to  turn  her  mare  about.  But  the  maneuver  was  never 
effected.  She  had  suddenly  recognized  the  horse  the  man 
was  riding.  It  was  Sunset.  The  next  moment  she 
further  recognized  the  broad  shoulders  of  the  man  in  the 
saddle,  and  a  glad  cry  broke  from  her,  and  she  urged  her 
mare  on  to  meet  him. 

"  Gordon! "  she  cried,  in  a  world  of  delight  and  relief  as 
she  came  up  with  him. 

"  You,  Hazel?  "  came  the  joyous  response  of  her  ghostly 
visitor. 

"  You  just  scared  me  all  to  death,"  protested  the  girl,  as 
the  big  chestnut  ranged  up  beside  her. 

"I  did?"  Gordon  was  smiling  tenderly  down  at  the 
pretty  figure,  so  fascinating  in  the  moonlight  as  it  sat  astride 
the  brown  mare. 

"  My,  but  I  thought  —  I  —  oh,  I  don't  know  what  I 
thought.  But  what  are  you  doing  around  —  now  ?  " 

The  girl  was  smiling  happily  enough.  Even  in  the  sil- 
ver of  the  moonlight  it  was  obvious  that  the  color  had  re- 
turned to  her  cheeks. 

"  I  was  going  to  ask  you  that,"  returned  Gordon.  "  But 
I  guess  I  best  tell  you  things  first/'  Then  he  began  to 
laugh.  "  I  was  coming  out  to  see  you,  but  —  not  you  only. 


304  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

Say,  I'm  just  the  weakest  conspirator  ever  started  out  to 
trap  a  mouse.  Look  at  me.  Say,  get  a  good  look.  It 
isn't  the  sort  of  thing  you'll  see  every  time  you  open  your 
eyes.  I  was  sick  to  death  feeling  the  old  dad  was  shut  up 
a  prisoner,  and  I  felt  I  must  get  along,  even  if  it  was  only 
just  to  get  a  peek,  and  be  sure  he  wasn't  suffering." 

Hazel's  eyes  were  tenderly  regarding  the  great  creature 
in  the  bright  moonlight.  She  had  been  so  recently  angry  at 
this  son's  heartless  action,  that  his  expression  of  contrition 
made  her  feel  all  the  more  tender  towards  him. 

"  He's  in  bed,  and  —  I'd  guess  he's  snoring  elegantly 
by  now,"  she  said,  with  a  smile.  "I  —  I  waited  to  start 
out  till  he  was  in  bed."  Then  her  eyes  met  his.  "  What 
were  you  coming  to  —  see  me  for?" 

The  direct  challenge  very  nearly  precipitated  matters. 
Gordon  had  excuses  enough  for  seeing  her,  but  only  one 
real  purpose.  He  hesitated  before  replying. 

"  We've  made  good,"  he  said  at  last,  by  way  of  subter- 
fuge, and  the  girl  drew  a  deep  breath  of  joyous  content. 

"  You've  —  made  —  good  ?  "  she  questioned,  more  in  the 
way  of  reassuring  herself  than  desiring  a  reply. 

Gordon  moved  his  horse  so  that  she  could  turn  about. 

"  Let's  go  back  to  the  —  prison,"  he  said,  his  words 
charged  with  the  excited  delight  stirring  within  him. 

"  Yes,  we've  made  good."  The  girl  turned  her  mare 
about  and  the  two  moved  on  the  way  she  had  already  come, 
side  by  side.  "  Listen,  while  I  tell  you.  Say,  I  could  sort 
of  shout  it  around  the  hill-tops  —  if  they  weren't  so  snowy 
and  cold.  Snake's  Fall  is  just  a  surging  land  market  for  us 
at  Buffalo.  There  are  real  estate  offices  opening  every- 
where, and  everybody  you  meet  on  the  sidewalk  is  a  broker 
of  some  sort,  The  Bude  and  Sideley  folk  turned  their  hold- 


ON  THE  TRAIL  305 

ings  loose  directly  we  got  the  surveyors  and  engineers  of  the 
railroad  up,  and  the  folks  all  jumped.  Then  the  men  at 
Snake's,  who  held  in  ours,  followed  suit.  But  your  father, 
bless  him,  held  tight.  The  boom  fairly  rose  to  a  shriek,  and 
we've  been  fighting  to  sit  tight,  and  let  the  prices  go  up 
skywards.  Then  we  had  a  meeting,  and  your  father 
loosened  up  a  bit.  Just  to  keep  the  spurt  on.  Meanwhile 
I've  handled  things  down  east,  and  kept  the  wires  singing. 
The  railroad  have  started  a  great  advertising  campaign  at  my 
orders.  The  coal  company,  too,  are  talking  Snake's  Fall, 
and  Buffalo  Point.  In  a  month  there'll  be  such  a  rush  as 
only  America,  and  this  continent  generally  knows  how  to 
make.  Even  now  sites  are  changing  hands  at  ridiculous 
prices.  Meanwhile  I've  got  the  railroad  busy.  Already 
ten  construction  trains  have  come  through,  and  they've 
started  on  the  new  depot."  He  drew  a  deep  sigh  of  satis- 
faction. Then  in  a  sort  of  shamefaced  manner  he  went  on. 
"  But  I've  had  to  weaken  in  the  old  dad's  direction.  I 
can't  make  good  and  leave  him  out  all  together.  You  see, 
that  play  of  Slosson's  in  Snake's  will  have  to  be  made  good, 
and  my  father  will  have  to  make  it  that  way.  So  I've  got 
your  father  to  give  me  a  six  months'  option  on  a  stretch  of 
land  adjoining  the  coalpits  which  he  hadn't  ceded  to  the 
Bude  people.  You  see,  if  there's  coal  there  it'll  put  my 
father  right  with  the  game,  and  we  shan't  have  hurt  him 
any.  Meanwhile  things  will  go  on,  and  we'll  have  to  keep 
the  old  dad  for  another  month.  Then  I  sell,  and " 

"  You'll  have  won  out,"  broke  in  Hazel,  her  eyes  shining 
in  the  moonlight.  Then  a  shadow  crossed  her  face.  "  But 
when  your  father  knows  what  you've  done?  What  then?  " 

Gordon  seemed  to  consider  his  reply  carefully. 

"  You  can  leave  that  to  me,  Hazel,"  he  said  at  last,  with 


3o6  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

a  whimsical  smile.  "  There's  surely  got  to  be  a  grand  finale 
to  this,  and  when  it  comes  I'll  still  need  your  help.  Say, 
why  were  you  riding  in  to  the  ranch  —  at  dead  of  night?  " 

The  abrupt  question  shocked  the  girl  out  of  her  delighted 
content.  The  memory  of  her  trouble  came  overwhelmingly 
upon  her.  But  Gordon  was  waiting. 

"  You're  making  good,  but  I've  made  pretty  bad,"  she 
said,  thrusting  a  desire  to  burst  into  tears  resolutely  from 
her.  "  I'm  just  every  sort  of  fool  and  I  —  don't  know 
how  much  damage  I  haven't  done.  Everything's  gone  right 
until  this  evening.  Hip-Lee  has  just  been  as  near  perfect 
as  a  Chinaman  can  be.  We've  carried  out  all  our  plans 
right  through,  and  I've  never  been  near  your  father  without 
Hip-Lee  looking  on.  That  is  —  until  this  evening."  The 
girl  sighed.  The  confession  of  her  blundering  was  hard  to 
make.  "  It  was  this  way,"  she  went  on  presently.  "  Your 
father  was  out  walking.  I  hadn't  seen  him  return.  I  was 
in  the  kitchen  fixing  his  supper,  and  it  was  sticky  hot,  and  I 
just  hated  the  flies,  so  I  went  out  for  a  breath  of  air.  Hip- 
Lee  had  been  playing  his  spy  game  on  your  father.  Well, 
I  just  stood  out  front  of  the  house  taking  a  look  at  the 
hills,  and  wishing  I  was  amongst  their  snows,  when  your 
father  spoke.  He  had  got  back,  and  was  sitting  outside 
the  house,  and,  maybe,  like  me  he  was  yearning  for  that 
snow.  Well,  I  just  couldn't  run  away  —  so  we  talked.  I 
guess  we'd  talked  quite  awhile,  and  I'd  kind  of  forgotten 
things,  and  in  the  middle  of  his  talk  he  started  to  address  me 
by  my  name,  and  got  as  far  as  '  Miss.'  Then,  without  a 
thought,  I  spoke  my  name.  He  just  seemed  startled,  but 
never  said  a  word  about  it,  and  now  I'm  worried  to  death. 
Was  there  ever  such " 

The  girl  broke  off,  and  it  seemed  to  Gordon,  in  spite  of 


ON  THE  TRAIL  307 

her  attempted  smile,  she  was  very  near  tears.  Instantly  he 
smothered  his  own  feelings  of  alarm  at  her  story  and  en- 
deavored to  console  her.  He  laughed,  but  in  Hazel's  hyper- 
sensitive condition  of  anxiety,  his  laugh  lacked  its  usual 
buoyancy. 

"  That's  nothing  to  worry  over,"  he  said.  "  I'd  say  if 
your  name  had  meant  anything  to  him  he  wouldn't  have 
given  you  breathing  time  before  you'd  learned  a  heap  of 
things  that  wouldn't  have  sounded  pretty.  Dad's  no  end  of 
a  sport,  but  when  he  gets  a  punch,  and  the  fellow  who  gives 
it  him  don't  vanish  quick,  he's  got  a  way  of  hitting  back 
mighty  hard.  I  don't  guess  that  break's  going  to  figure  any 
in  our  play.  He  never  said  a  word  ?  " 

"  Not  a  word."  Hazel  tried  to  take  comfort,  but  still 
remained  unconvinced.  "  Anyway  what  could  he  do?  " 

Gordon  remained  serious  for  some  moments.  Then  his 
eyes  lit  again. 

"  Not  a  thing,"  he  said  emphatically,  and  Hazel  knew  he 
meant  it. 

For  some  time  they  rode  on  in  silence,  and  thought  was 
busy  with  them  both.  Hazel  was  thinking  of  so  many 
things,  all  of  which  somehow  focussed  round  the  man  at 
her  side,  and  her  ardent  desire  to  obey  his  lightest  com- 
mands in  the  schemes  of  his  fertile  brain.  Gordon  had  dis- 
missed every  other  thought  from  his  mind  but  the  delightful 
companionship  of  this  ride,  which  had  come  all  unexpect- 
edly. The  girl's  mare  led  slightly,  and  the  sober  chestnut 
kept  his  nose  on  a  level  with  her  shoulder,  and  thus  Gordon 
was  left  free  to  regard  the  girl  he  loved  without  fear  of 
embarrassment  to  her.  But  somehow  Hazel  was  not  un- 
aware of  his  regard.  A  curious  subconsciousness  left  her 
with  the  feeling  that  her  every 


3o8  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

a  pleasant,   excited  nervousness  began  to   stir  her.     She 
hastily  broke  the  silence. 

''  You  said  you'd  still  need  my  help  when  —  the  grand 
finale  came,"  she  demanded. 

"  Sure,"  came  the  prompt  reply.     Then  very  slowly  the 
man  added !     "  I  can't  do  anything  without  your  help  - 
now." 

The  girl  glanced  round  quickly. 

'  You  mean  —  with  your  father  a  prisoner?  " 

The  man's  smile  deepened,  and  his  blue  eyes  gazed 
thoughtfully,  ardently,  into  the  hazel  eyes,  which,  in  a  mo- 
ment, became  hidden  from  him. 

"  I  don't  think  I  meant  —  quite  that,"  he  said. 

The  girl  offered  no  reply,  and  the  man  went  on. 

'  You  see,  we  have  become  sort  of  partners  in  most  every- 
thing, haven't  we?  I  don't  seem  to  think  of  anything  with- 
out you  being  in  it."  Then  he  laughed,  a  little  nervous 
laugh.  "  I  don't  try  to  either.  Say,  I  went  out  to  the  cat- 
tle station,  and  had  a  look  at  Slosson  the  other  day.  The 
boys  have  got  him  pretty  right,  and  —  I  felt  sorry  for  him." 

"Why?"  Hazel  asked  her  question  without  thinking. 
She  somehow  felt  incapable  of  thought  just  now.  She  felt 
like  one  drifting  upon  some  tide  which  was  beyond  her  con- 
trol, and  the  only  guiding  hand  that  mattered  was  this 
man's. 

Gordon  gave  one  of  his  curious  short  laughs,  which  might 
have  meant  anything. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said.  Then:  "Yes,  I  do  though. 
Think  of  a  fellow  who's  had  his  business  queered,  who's 
staked  a  big  gamble  and  lost,  not  only  that,  but  the  girl  he's 
crazy  about,  and  meanwhile  is  rounded  up  in  a  shack  that 
wwuiia^>.u  Uwj.,  o  cnmmci  ohowpr  nut,  and  seems  as  though 


ON  THE  TRAIL  309 

it  was  set  up  on  purpose  by  some  crazy  genius  as  a  sort  of 
playground  for  every  sort  of  wind  ever  blew.  Say,  if  I 

lost  my  partner  now,  I'd Guess  our  partnership  ought 

to  expire  in  a  month.  This  play  will  be  through  then." 

"  Yes." 

With  all  her  desire  to  talk  on  indifferently,  Hazel  could 
find  no  word  to  add  to  the  monosyllable.  She  was  trem- 
bling with  a  delightful  apprehension  she  could  not  check. 
And  somehow  she  had  no  desire  to  check  it.  This  man 
was  all  powerful  to  sway  her  emotions,  and  she  knew  it. 
The  moments  were  growing  almost  painful  in  the  tenseness 
of  her  emotions. 

"  Another  month.     It's  —  awful  for  me  to  think  of." 

"Is  it?" 

The  inanity  of  her  remark  would  have  made  Hazel  laugh 
at  any  other  time.  Now,  it  passed  her  by,  its  meaning- 
lessness  conveying  nothing  with  the  submerging  of  her 
humor  in  the  sea  of  stronger  emotions. 

Gordon  urged  his  horse  to  draw  level  with  the  mare. 
Then  he  deliberately  drew  it  down  to  a  walk  on  the  rustling 
grass,  and  Hazel  followed  his  example  without  protest. 
All  about  them  was  the  delicate  silver  tracery  of  the  moon- 
light through  the  trees.  The  warmth  of  the  perfumed 
night  air  possessed  a  seductiveness  only  equaled  by  the 
night  beauties  of  the  scene  about  them.  It  was  such  a  mo- 
ment when  the  most  timorous  lover  must  become  embold- 
ened, and  emulate  the  bravest.  But  Gordon  knew  no 
timidity.  His  only  fear  was  for  failure.  Had  he  realized 
the  tumult  which  his  words  had  stirred  within  this  girl's 
bosom  he  might  well  have  flung  all  hesitation  to  the  winds. 
As  it  was  he  threw  the  final  cast  with  all  the  strength  of  his 
virile,  impetuous  nature. 


3io  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"Another  month.  Must  it  end  then,  Hazel?"  He 
reached  out  and  seized,  with  gentle  firmness,  the  girl's  bridle 
hand.  "Must  it?  Say,  can't  it  be  partners  —  for  life?" 
His  eyes  were  very  tender,  but  their  humor  was  still  lurking 
in  their  depths.  He  leaned  towards  her  and  the  girl's  hand 
remained  unresistingly  in  his.  "  D'you  know,  dear,  I  sort 
of  feel  to-night  I'd  like  to  have  a  dozen  Slossons  standing 
around  waiting,  while  I  scrapped  'em  all  in  turn  for  you. 
Maybe  that  don't  tell  you  much.  It  can't  mean  anything  to 
you.  It  means  this  to  me.  It  means  I  just  want  to  be  the 
fellow  who's  got  to  see  to  it  that  life  runs  as  smooth  as  the 
wheels  of  a  Pullman  for  you.  It  means  I  don't  care  a  thing 
for  anything  else  in  the  world  but  you,  not  even  this  play 
we're  at  now.  I  guess  I  just  loved  you  the  day  I  first  saw 
you,  and  have  gone  on  loving  you  worse  and  worse  ever 
since,  till  I  don't  guess  there's  any  doctor,  but  having  you  al- 
ways with  me,  can  save  me  from  an  early  grave."  Some- 
how the  two  horses  had  come  to  a  standstill.  Nor  were 
they  urged  on.  "  I  just  want  you,  Hazel,  all  the  time,"  Gor- 
don went  on,  more  and  more  tenderly.  "  You'll  never  get 
to  know  how  badly  I  want  you.  Will  you  —  shall  it  be  — 
partners  —  always  ?  " 

The  girl  was  gazing  out  over  the  moonlight  scene  so  that 
Gordon  could  see  nothing  of  the  light  of  happiness  shining 
in  her  pretty  eyes.  All  he  knew  was  the  trembling  of  the 
hand  he  still  held  in  his.  Then,  suddenly,  while  he  waited, 
he  felt  the  girl's  other  hand,  soft,  warm,  full  of  that  quiet 
strength  which  he  knew  to  be  hers,  close  over  his,  and  a 
wild  thrill  swept  through  his  whole  body. 

"  Is  it  '  yes '  ?  "  he  demanded,  with  a  passionate  pressure 
of  his  hand,  and  a  great  light  burning  in  his  eyes.  "  Mine! 
Mine !  For  —  as  long  as  we  live  ?  " 


ON  THE  TRAIL  311 

The  girl  still  made  no  verbal  reply,  but  she  bowed  her 
head  and  gently  raised  his  hand,  and  tenderly  pressed  it  to 
her  soft  bosom.  In  an  instant  she  lay  crushed  in  his  arms 
while  the  two  horses,  with  heads  together,  seemed  lost  in  a 
friendly  discussion  of  the  extraordinary  proceedings  going 
on  between  their  riders. 

What  they  thought  about  them  was  apparently  on  the 
whole  favorable,  for  presently,  with  mute  expressions  of 
good  will,  their  handsome  heads  drew  apart  and  lowered 
significantly.  The  next  moment  they  were  enjoying  a 
pleasant  siesta,  such  as  only  a  four-footed  creature  can 
accomplish  standing  without  risk  to  life  and  limb. 

Half  an  hour  later  they  were  wide  awake  and  full  of 
bustling  activity.  The  closed  heels  on  their  saddle  cinchas 
warned  them  that  even  lovers'  madness  has  its  limits  of 
duration,  and  that  the  practical  affairs  of  life  must  inevitably 
become  paramount  in  the  end. 

So  they  answered  the  call,  and  raced  down  the  trail  in 
the  cool  of  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

IN    NEW   YORK 

Mrs.  James  Carbhoy  had  endured  anything  but  a  happy 
time  for  several  weeks.  She  had  received  no  news  from 
her  beloved  son;  her  husband  had  spirited  himself  away  on 
business  and  left  her  without  a  word  of  definite  informa- 
tion as  to  his  whereabouts;  while  even  the  trying  presence 
of  her  young  daughter  was  denied  her,  since  she  had  been 
forced  to  dispatch  that  personification  of  childish  willfulness 
to  their  estate  at  Tuxedo,  that  she  might  be  put  through  a 
course  of  disciplining  by  her  various  governesses. 

She  was  alone,  she  reminded  herself  not  less  than  three 
times  a  day,  and  to  be  alone  in  her  great  mansion  at  Central 
Park  was  the  limit  of  earthly  punishment  as  she  understood 
it.  She  detested  it.  She  hated  the  hot  summer  landscape 
of  the  park ;  she  was  worried  to  death  by  the  chorus  of  auto- 
mobile hooters  as  the  cars  sped  up  and  down  the  great 
asphalt  way;  she  felt  that  the  red-and-white  stone  palaces 
with  which  she  was  surrounded  were  the  ugliest  things  ever 
hidden  from  blind  eyes,  and  an  army  of  servants  could  be, 
and  was,  the  most  nerve-racking  thing  she  had  ever  been 
called  upon  to  endure.  For  two  peas  she  would  pack  a  bag 
—  no,  her  maid  would  have  to  pack  it ;  she  was  denied  even 
that  pleasure  —  and  hie  herself  to  Europe. 

This  was  something  of  the  condition  of  mind  to  which 
she  was  reduced,  when  one  morning  two  events  happened 


IN  NEW  YORK  313 

almost  simultaneously  which  changed  the  whole  aspect  of 
things,  and  created  in  her  something  approaching  a  desire 
to  continue  the  dreary  monotony  of  life. 

The  first  was  the  advent  of  her  mail,  with  a  long  letter 
from  her  son  dated  at  Buffalo  Point,  and  the  second  was  an 
urgent  request  from  her  husband's  manager,  Mr.  Harker, 
desiring  permission  to  wait  upon  her,  as  he  had  the  most 
encouraging  news  from  the  long-lost  Gordon  and  her  hus- 
band's affairs  generally. 

Gordon's  mother  did  not  read  her  son's  letter  at  once. 
She  saw  the  heading  and  glanced  at  the  opening  paragraph. 
The  satisfaction  so  inspired  caused  her  to  set  it  aside  for 
careful  perusal  after  her  breakfast.  Mr.  Harker  would 
be  up  to  see  her  at  about  eleven  o'clock.  That  would  give 
her  ample  time  to  have  digested  its  contents  before  he 
arrived. 

For  the  first  time  in  weeks  she  ate  an  ample  breakfast 
at  her  customary  early  hour.  She  further  forgot  to  make 
her  maid's  life  a  burden  during  the  process  of  dressing,  and 
she  even  enjoyed  glancing  over  the  advertisements  of  the 
daily  newspapers.  Then  came  the  hour  of  seclusion  in  her 
boudoir  when  she  yielded  herself  to  the  perusal  of  her  boy's 
letter. 

"  BUFFALO  POINT, 

Near  Snake's  Fall. 
"  DEAREST  MUM  : 

"  It  seems  so  long  since  I  sent  you  any  mail,  and  I  seem 
to  have  so  much  news  to  tell  you,  and  I've  so  completely 
forgotten  what  I  have  already  told  you,  that  I  hardly  know 
where  to  begin.  However,  you'll  see  by  the  heading  of 
this  letter  I  am  at  Buffalo  Point,  and  am  glad  to  say  I  have 


314  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

received  a  visit  from  the  dear  old  Dad,  who  is  just  as  happy 
as  any  man  of  his  devotion  to  work  can  be  —  on  vacation. 
His  visit  to  me  here  has  placed  me  in  a  position  of  great 
trust  in  his  affairs  in  the  neighborhood,  and  I  am  very  proud 
that,  through  my  own  efforts,  I  have  been  so  placed.  After 
this  I  feel  that  the  dear  old  Dad  will  never  have  cause  to 
question  my  ability  in  dealing  with  big  affairs.  I  feel  he 
will  acknowledge  that  the  seed  of  his  example  has  really 
fallen  on  fruitful  soil,  and  that,  after  all,  perhaps  I  shall  yet 
prove  a  worthy  son  of  a  great  father. 

"  This,  I  guess,  brings  me  to  the  discussion  of  a  subject 
which  has  kind  of  interested  me  some  these  last  days.  It 
is  the  modern  understanding  of  filial  duty.  I  s'pose  even 
such  a  duty  changes  in  its  aspect,  as  everything  else  seems 
to  change,  with  the  passage  of  time.  Chasing  around  in 
the  dark  days  of  pre-civilized  times  filial  duty  seemed  pretty 
clearly  marked.  One  of  the  first  duties  of  a  son  was,  when 
his  mother  wasn't  around  to  claim  the  privilege,  to  get  in  the 
way  when  his  father  wanted  to  hit  something  with  his  club. 
He  was  also  kind  of  handy  as  a  sacrifice,  either  well  broiled 
or  minced  into  fancy  chunks,  to  make  his  father's  Gods  feel 
good  and  get  benevolent.  Then  he  was  mighty  useful  doing 
chores  around  the  home,  so  his  father  didn't  have  to  do  more 
work  than  it  took  him  filling  his  stomach  with  Saurian 
steaks  and  Pterodactyl  cutlets,  and  getting  drunk  on  a  sort 
of  beer,  which  his  wife  had  contracted  the  habit  of  making 
for  him  in  the  intervals  between  being  laid  out  cold  with  a 
stone  club. 

"  There  don't  seem  to  be  much  doubt  about  those  days. 
A  son's  filial  duty  lasted  just  as  long  as  his  father  could  en- 
force it  with  physical  discipline.  When  he  couldn't  do  it 
that  way  any  longer,  then  the  son  and  father  generally  made 


IN  NEW  YORK  315 

a  big  talk  together,  and  whatever  odds  and  ends  of  the 
father  could  be  collected  at  the  finish  of  the  pow-wow  were 
handed  over  to  some  local  soup  kitchen  to  make  stock. 

"  Then  the  son  usually  took  a  wife,  and  so  the  same  old 
play  went  on. 

"  With  variations  and  moderations  these  things  seem  to 
have  gone  on,  on  some  such  general  lines,  right  down  to  our 
present  day.  In  some  grades  of  present-day  life  I  don't 
think  there's  such  a  heap  of  change  as  you'd  guess.  The 
conditions  prevail,  only  the  weapons  and  things  are  different. 
However,  that's  by  the  way.  The  thing  that  requires  care- 
ful study  is  how  far  filial  duty  is  justified. 

"  Filial  duty  is  a  pretty  arbitrary  thing  when  a  man  who 
can  really  think  looks  into  it.  I  maintain  that  obligation  is 
too  much  imposed  upon  offspring.  I  contend  they  don't 
owe  a  thing  to  their  parents.  It's  the  parents  who  owe  to 
the  offspring.  This  may  shock  you,  but  I  hope  you  will  put 
all  personal  feeling  aside  and  regard  it  in  the  nature  of  an 
academic  discussion.  First  of  all,  the  fact  of  life  is  de- 
pendent upon  the  whim  of  parents  to  impose  it.  It  is  not  a 
thing  which  a  child  owes  gratitude  for.  Say,  take  a  feller 
who  can't  swim,  tie  half  a  ton  of  lead  around  his  neck  and 
boost  him  into  a  whirlpool  full  of  rocks  and  things,  and 
ask  him  for  gratitude.  I'm  open  to  gamble  when  he  gets 
his  breath  he  won't  say  a  thing  —  not  a  thing  —  about 
gratitude.  Maybe  he'll  remember  every  other  emotion  ever 
given  to  erring  humanity,  but  I  don't  guess  he'd  be  able  to 
spell  the  word  gratitude,  let  alone  talk  it. 

"  We'll  pass  the  subject  of  life  for  the  moment.  We've 
got  it.  We  didn't  want,  but  we  got.  And  all  the  kicking 
won't  alter  it.  Now  filial  duty  demands  obedience,  and 
parents  start  right  in  from  the  first  to  make  a  kid's  life  a 


316  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

burden  that  way.  Say,  we'll  take  that  whirlpool  racket 
again.  It's  like  two  folks  standing  high  and  dry  on  a  rock 
above  it,  and  firing  stones  all  around  the  poor  darned  fool 
struggling  to  win  out.  It  don't  matter  which  way  he  turns 
he's  headed  off  with  a  rock  dropped  plumb  ahead  of  him. 
Those  rocks  are  labeled  '  obey/  Say,  after  about  twenty 
years  of  dodging  those  rocks  parents  '11  tell  that  feller  of  all 
they  did  for  him  in  his  youth,  and  say  he's  ungrateful  just 
because  he's  learned  enough  sense  to  realize  his  parents  are 
fools,  anyway,  and  ought  to  be  petrified  mummies  in  a 
public  museum. 

"  One  of  the  worst  sins  of  parents  toward  children  is  the 
fact  that  as  soon  as  they  take  to  sitting  around  in  rockers, 
and  their  hinges  start  to  creak  when  they  get  up,  they  don't 
ever  seem  to  remember  the  time  when  their  joints  didn't 
have  to  make  queer  noises.  When  folks  get  that  way  they 
reckon  it's  the  duty  of  all  offspring  just  to  sit  around  and 
gape  in  fool  credulity,  while  they  tell  'em  what  wonderful 
folk  their  parents  —  used  to  be,  and  how  they  —  the  chil- 
dren—  if  they  lived  a  century,  could  never  hope  to  be  half 
as  wonderful.  A  really  bright  kid  generally  hopes  that  for 
once  his  parent  is  talking  truth.  I  say  it  with  all  respect 
that  the  gentlest,  most  harmless,  most  inoffensive  father 
would  resort  to  any  subterfuge  to  have  his  son  think  he 
could  lick  creation  if  he  fancied  that  way;  and  there  isn't 
a  woman  so  almighty  plain  but  what  she'll  contrive  to  get 
her  daughters  —  while  they're  still  children  —  crazy  enough 
to  believe  she  was  the  beauty  of  her  family,  and  that  all 
their  good  looks  are  due  to  her  side  of  the  matrimonial 
contract. 

"Of  course,  it  isn't  a  desirable  thought  to  picture  your 
mother  playing  at  holding  hands  in  dark  corners  with  fellers 


IN  NEW  YORK  317 

who  never  had  a  hundred-to-one  chance  of  being  your 
father;  also  it  isn't  just  pleasant  to  speculate  on  the  tricks 
she  had  to  play  to  get  your  father  to  the  jumping-off  mark ; 
neither  do  you  care  to  dwell  on  what  she  thought  of  the 
chorus  girls  your  father  was  in  the  habit  of  buying  wine  for, 
and  decorating  up  with  fancy  clothes  and  jewels  in  his  spare 
moments.  You  don't  feel  it's  a  nice  thing  to  think  of  the 
numbers  of  times  some  one  else  has  had  to  take  off  your 
father's  boots  for  him  overnight,  and  bathe  his  aching  head 
with  ice-water  to  get  him  down  town  in  the  morning  to  his 
office.  But  it  wouldn't  hurt  you  a  thing  if  parents  made  a 
point  of  remembering  all  these  things  for  themselves,  and 
would  give  up  making  you  quit  playing  parlor  games  dur- 
ing sermon  in  church  on  Sundays  and  inventing  your  own 
words  to  the  hymn  tunes. 

"  Now  let's  jump  to  what  I  call  the  breaking-point  of 
filial  duty.  It's  the  point  when  a  kid  gets  old  enough  to 
master  the  inner  meaning  of  the  expression  '  damn  fool/ 
which  has  probably  been  liberally  applied  to  him  for  years. 
It's  the  moment  when  physical  discipline  can  no  longer  ob- 
tain for  —  physical  reasons.  It's  the  point  when  two  real 
live  men,  or  two  real  live  women,  face  each  other  with  a 
contentious  situation  lying  between  them.  Where  does 
obligation  lie  ?  Does  it  remain  —  anyway  ? 

"  In  Nature  it  does  not.  In  human  nature  it  remains  — 
chiefly  because  of  undue  sentimentalism.  Now  sentimen- 
talism  should  be  a  luxury,  and  not  a  law.  This  is  obvious 
to  any  mind  not  suffocated  by  the  gases  of  decadence.  I'd 
like  to  say  Nature's  laws  are  sane  and  just,  and,  since  they 
are  inspired  by  a  great  and  wise  Providence,  it's  not  rea- 
sonable to  guess  they  can  be  improved  upon  by  a  psalm- 
smiting  set  of  folks,  who  spend  their  whole  lives  in  wrap- 


3i8  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

ping  'emselves  around  with  cotton  batten  to  keep  out  the 
wholesome  draughts  of  Nature's  lungs. 

"  So  I  feel  that  when  the  breaking-point  of  filial  duty  is 
reached  it  is  no  longer  mother  and  daughter,  father  and  son, 
in  the  practicalities  of  life.  Take  commerce.  Father  and 
son  are  in  competition.  Each  is  fighting  for  his  own. 
How  far  is  a  son  justified  in  emptying  an  automatic  pistol 
into  his  father's  food  depot,  when  that  mistaken  parerj 
guesses  he's  yearning  to  storm  his  son's  stronghold  of  com- 
mercial enterprise?  How  far  is  that  father  justified  in 
doping  his  son's  liquor,  so  he  won't  lie  awake  at  nights 
planning  to  roll  him  for  his  wad  next  morning?  Take  a 
daughter  and  her  momma.  Most  mothers  act  as  though 
they  had  to  live  all  their  lives  with  their  daughters'  hus- 
bands. And  most  daughters  act  as  though  they  preferred 
their  mommas  should.  I  ask :  how  far  has  a  mother  right 
to  butt  in  to  run  her  daughter's  home  doings,  and  so  muss 
up  for  some  one  else  what  she  was  never  able  to  do  right  for 
herself?  Why  shouldn't  a  daughter  be  allowed  to  make 
her  own  mess  of  things,  and  later  on,  when  she  collects 
sense,  clean  it  up  again  the  best  she  knows  ? 

"  These  are  questions  in  my  mind.  These  are  questions 
I  don't  just  seem  able  to  answer  right  myself,  and  sort  of 
feel  they'd  have  given  old  Sol  some  insomnia,  in  spite  of  all 
his  glory  over  the  baby  episode  he  made  such  a  song  about. 
Well,  I  put  'em  down  here,  and  maybe  you  can  tell  me  about 
'em,  and,  anyway,  they  make  some  problem. 

"  Maybe  I  haven't  set  out  my  news  to  the  best  advantage, 
but  my  mind  is  very  busy  with  fixing  things  as  they  should 
go.  You  see,  I'm  working  hard  in  the  old  Dad's  interest, 
and  am  hoping  soon  to  get  that  little  word  of  approval  from 
him  which  means  so  much,  coming  from  so  great  a  man.  I 


IN  NEW  YORK  319 

am  looking  forward  to  seeing  you  again  soon,  and  hope  to 
see  your  dear,  smiling  face  and  pretty  eyes  just  as  bright 
and  happy  as  I  always  remember  them.  Give  my  love  to 
our  Grade,  and  tell  her  that  the  only  way  to  get  rid  of  those 
peculiarly  spindle  lower  legs,  which  have  always  been  one  of 
her  worst  physical  defects,  is  to  adopt  ankle  exercises.  It's 
a  defect,  like  many  others  in  her  character,  which  can  be 
improved  with  conscientious  effort  and  patience. 

"  Your  loving  son, 

"  GORDON. 

"  P.S. —  Your  future  daughter-in-law  is  just  crazy  to  be 

taken  into  your  motherly  fold. 

"  G." 

Mr.  Harker's  face  was  wreathed  in  smiles  at  the  thought 
of  the  pleasant  news  it  was  his  good  fortune  to  be  convey- 
ing to  the  wife  of  his  chief.  His  smile  remained  until  he 
heard  the  trim  maid's  announcement  at  the  door  of  Mrs. 
Carbhoy's  boudoir.  Then  the  smile  vanished,  as  though  it 
had  never  been,  and  his  well-nourished  features  became  an 
assortment  of  troubled  bewilderment.  Furthermore,  within 
five  minutes  of  his  ushering  into  the  lady's  presence  he  had 
registered  a  solemn  vow  that  celibacy  should  remain  his 
lot,  until  the  day  that  saw  his  ample  remains  become  a  sub- 
ject for  cooking  operations  by  the  crematorium  experts. 

Mr.  Harker  was  certainly  unfortunate  in  his  selection  of 
the  moment  at  which  to  pay  his  call.  Mrs.  James  Carbhoy 
had  had  half  an  hour  since  reading  her  son's  letter,  in  which 
to  pursue  that  hateful  hyphenated  word  "  daughter-in- 
law  "  through  every  darkened  channel  of  her  somewhat 
limited  mental  machinery. 

Daughter-in-law!     It  was  everywhere.     She  could  not 


320  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

lose  sight  of  it.  She  could  not  escape  its  haunting  meaning. 
It  pursued  her  wherever  she  went.  It  was  there,  lurking 
amidst  the  folds  of  her  gowns  if  she  peered  inside  the  great 
hanging  wardrobes.  It  danced  like  a  will-o'-the-wisp  in 
every  mirror  which  her  troubled  eyes  chanced  to  encounter. 
It  was  interwoven  with  the  patterns  of  the  carpets ;  and  the 
wall-paperings  found  a  lurking-place  for  it  amidst  the  un- 
real foliage  which  adorned  them.  It  laughed  at  her  when 
she  angrily  turned  away  to  avoid  it,  and  when  she  en- 
deavored to  defy  it  its  mocking  only  increased.  So  it  was 
that  the  unoffending  Harker  encountered  the  full  tide  of  her 
angry  alarm  and  maternal  despair. 

Mr.  Harker  had  prepared  a  well-turned  opening  for  his 
excellent  news.  But  it  was  never  used.  Even  as  his  lips 
moved  to  speak  they  remained  sealed,  held  silent  by  the 
bitter  cry  of  outraged  maternal  pride. 

"He's  married!"  she  cried.  "  Married  —  and  I  — I 
have  never  been  consulted !  " 

Mr.  Harker  felt  as  though  he  had  been  caught  up  in  the 
whirl  of  a  physical  encounter  in  which  his  opponent  held 
all  the  advantage. 

Mrs.  Carbhoy  waited  for  no  comment.  She  rushed  head- 
long, following  up  her  advantage,  smashing  in  "  lefts  "  and 
"  rights  "  indiscriminately. 

"It's  disgraceful  —  terrible!  The  ingratitude  of  it! 
After  all  his  father  and  I  have  done  for  him!  To  think 
how  we've  always  guided  and  taught  him!  The  callous 
selfishness!  The  moment  he's  out  of  our  sight  —  this  — 
this  is  what  happens.  He's  picked  up  with  some  wicked, 
designing  female,  whose  father's  certain  to  be  a  —  a- 
gaolbird  —  or,  anyway,  ought  to  be.  Not  a  word  to  a  soul. 
We  —  we  don't  know  who  she  is  —  or  —  or  what.  He 


IN  NEW  YORK  321 

don't     even     say    her     name.     Daughter-in-law!    It's- 

it's Mr.  Harker,  I'm  just  wondering  when  I'll  come 

over  all  crazy." 

Mr.  Harker  welcomed  the  pause. 

"  You  say  Mr.  Gordon's  married  ? "  he  demanded  in- 
credulously. 

"  Yes  —  no.  That  is,  he  —  he  says  '  your  future  daugh- 
ter-in-law ' ! " 

Mr.  Harker  breathed  a  deep  relief  and  strove  to  smile 
confidence  upon  his  chiefs  wife. 

"  Ah,  yes.  Mr.  Gordon  was  always  one  for  the  girls. 
But  he  wouldn't  make  a  fool  of  himself  that  way " 

In  a  moment  the  second  round  of  the  battle  was  raging. 

"Fool?  Fool?  Every  man's  a  fool,  if  some  woman 
chooses!  "  cried  Mrs.  Carbhoy,  and  promptly  hurled  herself 
into  a  bitter  tirade  against  her  sex,  sparing  no  race  of 
monsters  from  likeness  to  it. 

Mr.  Harker  was  forced  to  submit  from  sheer  inability  to 
compete  with  the  rapid  flow  of  expression.  But  later  on  he 
had  his  opportunity  at  what  he  considered  to  be  the  termina- 
tion of  the  "  second  round,"  while  his  opponent  retired  to 
her  corner  to  be  fanned  by  her  seconds. 

"  Anyway,  ma'am,  if  he's  not  yet  married  there's  still 
hope.  I  guess  Mr.  Carbhoy's  wise  to  what's  doing  with 
him.  You  see,  he's  been  there  with  him." 

"  James  Carbhoy !  "  The  contemptuous  emphasis  on  her 
husband's  name  opened  the  "  third  round,"  and  Mr.  Harker 
felt  that  the  timekeeper  had  called  "  time  "  before  he  was 
ready. 

For  three  full  minutes  the  scornful  wife  of  the  millionaire 
recited  an  amplified  denunciation  upon  husbands  in  general 
and  millionaires  in  particular.  But  even  so  the  round  had 


322  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

to  come  to  its  natural  conclusion,  and  when  they  were  both 
resting  once  more  in  their  "  corners/7  Mr.  Harker  achieved 
something  almost  approaching  success. 

"  You  know,  Mrs.  Carbhoy,  I  was  feeling  pretty  good 
coming  along  here  in  my  automobile.  Mr.  Gordon's  some- 
thing more  to  me  than  just  your  son.  We're  real  good 
friends,  and  I  was  feeling  as  anxious  for  his  future  as 
maybe  you  were.  Well,  when  I  got  word  from  your  hus- 
band at  Snake's  saying  that  he'd  turned  our  affairs  over  to 
Mr.  Gordon  I  was  real  glad,  and  I  felt  now  here  was  the 
boy's  chance.  Then,  day  after  day,  along  .come  his  instruc- 
tions, and  I  saw  by  the  grip  he'd  got  on  things  he'd  taken 
his  chance,  and  was  pushing  it  through  with  as  much  smart- 
ness as  Mr.  Carbhoy  himself  might  have  shown.  I  was 
more  than  gratified,  ma'am.  Why,  only  to-day  I've  re- 
ceived word  of  a  big  coal  option  he's  taken  for  us.  As  he's 
got  it  it's  something  for  nothing.  Nobody  could  have  done 
better,  not  even  your  husband,  ma'am.  I  really  can't  think 
there's  going  to  be  any  mistakes  about  —  strange  females.'' 

The  man's  tribute  had  a  mollifying  effect  upon  the 
mother.  But  she  was  still  the  "  mother  "  rather  than  a 
creature  of  logic.  She  saw  her  boy  being  led  to  his  undoing 
by  some  designing  creature  of  her  own  sex,  and  her  instinct 
warned  her  of  the  hideous  dangers  to  millionaires'  sons  in- 
herent in  so  guileful  a  race. 

"  If  I  could  only  feel  that  he  was  experienced  in  the 
world,"  she  said  helplessly.  "  But  what  does  our  poor 
Gordon  know  of  women?  " 

Mr.  Harker  smiled.  He  was  thinking  with  the  intimacy 
of  one  man  who  knows  another.  He  knew,  too,  something  of 
the  way  in  which  Gordon's  money  had  generally  been  spent. 

"  We  must  hope  the  best,  ma'am,"  he  said,  with  a  hypo 


IN  NEW  YORK  323 

critical  sigh.  "  He's  evidently  not  married,  so  —  what  do 
you  intend  to  do  about  it  while  Mr.  Carbhoy  is  on  the 
coast?" 

"  Do?  Do?  Why,  I  shall  just  go  up  to  Snake's  what- 
ever-it-is, or  Buffalo  what's-its-name,  and  —  and 

"  I  should  wait  awhile,  ma'am,  if  I  were  you,"  Mr. 
Harker  interrupted  her,  fearing  another  outburst.  "  I'm 
expecting  David  Slosson  in  the  city  soon.  He's  one  of  our 
confidential  men  who's  been  working  up  at  Snake's  for  us. 
I  haven't  heard  from  him  for  quite  a  while.  He's  sure  to 
be  along  down  soon,  because  he's  got  to  make  a  report. 
Maybe  he  can  tell  us  just  how  things  are.  Anyway,  I 
wouldn't  go  up  there.  It's  a  queer,  wild  sort  of  place,  and 
in  no  way  fit  for  you." 

"  Will  Slosson  be  around  soon?  " 

"  Sure,  ma'am." 

"  Then  I'll  wait,"  cried  the  troubled  mother,  without  cor- 
diality. Then  she  appealed  to  the  man  who  had  always 
been  something  more  than  a  mere  commercial  figure  in  her 
husband's  life.  "  You  know,  if  anything  went  wrong  with 
my  boy,  Mr.  Harker,  it  would  just  break  my  heart.  I  —  I 
couldn't  bear  it.  But  I  tell  you  right  here  there's  no 
wretched  female  going  to  play  her  tricks  on  our  Gordon 
with  me  around,  and  while  I've  got  James  Carbhoy's  mil- 
lions to  my  hand.  And  if  your  man  Slosson  don't  give  us 
satisfactory  news  of  the  boy,  then,  if  Snake's  what's-its- 
name  were  the  worst  place  on  earth  —  I  should  make  it." 

"If  it  comes  to  that,  ma'am,  there  are  other  folks  feel 
that  way,  too,"  said  the  manager  earnestly.  "  But  mean- 
while I'd  say  don't  worry  a  thing." 

"  I  don't !  "  snapped  the  mother  sharply.  "  The  person 
who'll  need  to  do  all  the  worrying  is  that  —  female." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

PREPARING    FOR   THE   FINALE 

"  I'm  getting  scared,  Gordon.     Real  truth,  I  am." 

Hazel  was  in  the  saddle.  Gordon  had  just  mounted 
Sunset.  It  was  the  close  of  a  long,  arduous,  triumphant 
day  for  Gordon,  and  he  was  feeling  very  happy,  though 
mentally  weary.  The  horses  moved  off  before  he  made 
any  reply.  He  had  just  dismissed  Peter  McSwain  and 
Mike  Callahan,  with  whom  he  had  been  in  close  consulta- 
tion, and  Hazel's  father  was  still  within  the  office  to  see  to 
its  closing  for  the  night  and  the  departure  of  the  clerical 
staff. 

The  way  lay  towards  the  ranch,  and  the  trail  the  horses 
were  taking  skirted  the  new  township,  now  no  longer  a 
waste  of  untrodden  grass,  but  a  busy  camp  with  a  strongly 
flowing  human  tide. 

Hazel  had  come  to  meet  him  at  her  lover's  urgent  request, 
and  she  was  glad  enough  to  get  away  from  the  old  ranch 
house,  where  the  charge  of  her  captive  there  was  seriously 
beginning  to  trouble  her.  Now  she  had  at  last  voiced  some- 
thing of  those  feelings  which  the  rapid  passing  of  the  weeks 
had  steadily  inspired.  She  knew  that  her  peace  of  mind 
demanded  some  change  from  this  worrying  situation.  In 
her  loyalty  she  had  struggled  to  perform  her  share  in  the 
conspiracy.  She  knew,  too,  that  she  had  succeeded  fairly 
well,  and  that  her  efforts  were  all  appreciated  to  their  full. 
She  had  contrived  that  her  lover's  father  should  never  know 


PREPARING  FOR  THE  FINALE  325 

a  moment's  discomfort.  That  his  life  in  captivity  should 
be  made  as  easy  and  pleasant  as  possible.  There  were  no 
signs  that  it  had  been  otherwise,  but  now,  seven  weeks  had 
elapsed  since  his  arrival,  and  what  had  just  seemed  a 
scandalous  joke  to  her  originally,  had  become  a  sort  of 
painful  nightmare  which  she  was  longing  to  throw  off.  The 
moment  she  and  Gordon  were  actually  alone,  she  had  been 
impelled  to  break  the  silence  which  was  steadily  undermin- 
ing her  nerve. 

Gordon's  horse  was  close  abreast  of  the  brown  mare,  and 
its  rider  smiled  down  from  his  great  height  upon  the  pretty 
tailored  figure  of  the  girl  who  had  become  all  the  world 
to  him. 

"  I  know,"  he  said  sympathetically.  "  It's  sort  of  that 
way  with  me,  too.  I  don't  just  mean  I'm  scared.  There's 
nothing  for  me  to  be  scared  about.  It's  —  sort  of  con- 
science with  me.  As  for  your  father  —  say  " —  his  smile 
broadened  — "  he's  taken  to  his  eye-patch  with  everybody  — 
me,  too.  I  guess  that  means  he's  worried  no  end." 

"  What  —  what  are  you  going  to  do  —  then?  " 

Hazel  eagerly  watched  that  big,  open,  ingenuous  face 
with  its  widely  smiling  blue  eyes.  And,  watching  it,  she 
discerned  added  signs  of  a  growing  humor.  Finally  he 
laughed  outright. 

"  Say,  we're  just  the  limit  for  a  bunch  of  conspirators. 
Yes  —  the  limit.  You're  the  only  one  of  us  wrho's  had  the 
moral  courage  to  put  your  feelings  into  words.  We're  all 
scared.  We've  all  been  scared  these  weeks.  Your  father's 
scared,  so  he  can't  look  at  any  man  with  two  eyes.  Peter's 
all  of  a  shiver  every  time  he  comes  within  hailing  distance 
of  the  sheriff.  As  for  Mike  —  well,  Mike's  sold  all  his 
holdings,  and  is  bursting  to  sell  his  livery  business,  all  but 


326  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

one  team,  so  he'll  have  the  means  of  skipping  the  border  at 
a  minute's  notice.  Say,  have  you  figured  out  how  we 
stand?  How  I  stand?  Well,  from  a  point  of  law  I  guess 
I'm  a  good  candidate  for  ten  years'  penitentiary.  I've  kid- 
napped two  men ;  one's  a  dirty  dog,  anyway,  and  the  other's 
one  of  the  biggest  millionaires  in  the  country.  I've  fraudu- 
lently played  up  a  railroad.  I've  started  this  boom  on  the 
biggest  fraud  ever  practiced.  I've  —  say,  ten  years !  Why, 
I  guess  the  tally  of  this  adventure  looks  to  me  like  twenty 
in  the  worst  penitentiary  to  be  found  in  the  country.  It  — 
makes  me  perspire  to  think  of  it." 

He  was  laughing  in  a  perfectly  reckless  fashion,  and,  in 
spite  of  her  very  real  fears,  Hazel  perforce  found  herself 
joining  in. 

"  It's  desperate,  Gordon,"  she  cried.  "  And  as  for  you, 
who  worked  it  all  out,  and  led  it,  you  —  you  are  the  dearest 
blackguard  ever  breathed."  Then  quite  suddenly  her  eyes 
sobered,  and  her  apprehension  returned  with  a  rush.  "  But 
how  long  is  —  it  to  last  ?  I  —  I  can't  go  on  much  longer, 
and  your  father's  getting  restive  and  suspicious." 

Gordon  reached  down  and  patted  Sunset's  crested  neck. 

"  It's  finished  now.  That's  why  I  asked  you  to  come  and 
meet  me.  I've  sold." 

"You've  sold?" 

In  a  moment  the  last  shadow  of  fear  had  passed  out  of  the 
girl's  pretty  eyes.  Now  she  was  agog  with  excited  admira- 
tion. 

"  Yes."  The  man  nodded.  "  It  had  to  be  done  care- 
fully. I've  been  selling  quietly  for  days  and  now  it's 
finished.  I  didn't  get  the  prices  I  hoped  quite,  but  that  was 
because  I  felt  I  dared  not  wait  longer  to  clear  up  the  general 
mess  I'd  made.  Your  father  helped  me,  and  I  now  sit 


PREPARING  FOR  THE  FINALE  327 

here  with  a  roll  of  precisely  one  hundred  and  five  thousand 
dollars,  and  a  definite  promise  to  your  father  to  fix  things 
with  the  great  James  Carbhoy  so  no  trouble  is  coming  to 
any  one  —  not  even  Slosson.  I  don't  know.  Now  it's 
all  over  I'm  sort  of  sorry.  You  know  this  sort  of  thing  - 
the  excitement  of  beating  folks  —  is  a  great  play.  I  want 
to  be  at  it  all  the  time." 

"  You've  got  to  meet  your  father  yet,"  said  the  girl  warn- 
ingly. 

"The  old  dad?  Why,  yes,  I  s'pose  I  have."  Gordon 
chuckled.  "  Say,  I  don't  wonder  folks  taking  to  crooked 
Ways.  They  just  set  your  blood  tingling  like  —  like  a 
glass  of  champagne  on  an  empty  stomach.  Just  look  out 
there."  He  pointed  at  the  new  township.  "  Say,  isn't  it 
wonderful?  All  in  a  few  weeks.  And  all  the  result  of 
one  man's  crookedness." 

"  And  your  father  has  been  a  —  prisoner  —  the  whole 
time.  Over  seven  weeks,"  rebuked  the  girl. 

"  But  it's  only  three  weeks  since  I  met  you  that  night  on 
the  trail,  Hazel.  No  other  time  concerns  me.  Not  even 
the  dear  old  dad's  captivity.  That  was  the  beginning  of 
all  things  that  matter  for  me." 

"  You  seem  to  date  everything  around  that  —  ridiculous 
episode,"  said  Hazel  slyly.  "  I " 

"  I  do." 

"  Don't  interrupt  me,  sir.  I  was  going  to  assure  you 
that  your  proper  spirit  should  be  one  of  contrition  for  what 
you  have  made  your  father  endure." 

"  It  is." 

"  You  said  you  didn't  care." 

"  I  don't." 
-Then " 


328  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

Gordon  burst  out  into  a  happy  laugh. 

"Don't  you  see,  dear?  I  just  don't  care  for,  or  think 
about  anything  else  in  the  world.  You  —  you  —  you  are 
just  mine,  so  what's  the  use  of  talking  of  the  old  dad." 

"  Really  ?  True  ?  True  ?  "  The  girl's  tender  eyes  were 
melting  as  they  gazed  up  into  her  lover's.  "  More  to  you 
than  all  —  this?"  She  indicated  the  busy  life  on  the  new 
township.  The  miracle,  as  she  regarded  it,  which  he  had 
worked.  The  man  smiled,  his  eyes  full  of  a  great,  tender 
love.  "  I'm  glad,"  the  girl  sighed.  "  It  isn't  always  so 
with  men  —  where  the  making  of  money  is  concerned,  is 
it  ? "  She  breathed  a  great  contentment  and  happiness. 
"  Yes,  I'm  —  so  glad.  It's  the  same  with  me,  but  —  I  want 
all  this  to  go  on  right  —  because  of  you.  I  want  your  suc- 
cess. I  want  your  success  as  a  man,  and  —  with  your 
father.  I'm  very  jealous  for  those  things  now.  You  see, 
you  belong  to  me,  don't  you  ?  "  She  turned  and  gazed 
away  across  the  plain.  "  Oh,  it's  good  to  see  it  all  —  to  see 
all  the  busy  work  going  on.  Look  there  —  and  there,"  she 
pointed  quickly  in  many  directions.  "  Buildings  going  up. 
Temporary  buildings.  The  substantial  structures  to  come 
later.  Then  the  road  gangs  at  work.  The  carpenters  at 
the  sidewalks.  The  surveyors.  The  teams  and  wagons. 
Above  all,  that  depot  being  built  with  all  expedition  by  - 
your  father."  She  laughed  happily  and  clapped  her  hands. 
"It's  all  growing  every  day.  A  mushroom  town.  And 
you  —  you  have  made  that  money  your  great  father  dared 
you  to  make.  Dared  you  —  you,  and  you  have  made  it  out 
of  him!  Oh,  dear!  the  humor  of  it  is  enough  to  make  a 
cat  laugh.  Here  you,  by  sheer  audacity  and  roguery,  have 
held  up  a  railroad  and  coolly  played  the  highwayman  on 
your  own  father !  " 


PREPARING  FOR  THE  FINALE  329 

Gordon  shook  his  head. 

"  Call  it  grabbing  opportunity.  It  was  an  opportunity 
which  came  my  way  through  the  trifling  oversight  of  for- 
getting to  return  the  private  code  book  which  the  old  dad 
had  entrusted  to  my  care.  Say,  I  can  never  thank  the  dad 
enough  for  that  half-hour  talk  in  his  office  which  sent  me 
out  into  the  wilderness.  If  he  hadn't  handed  it  to  me,  I 
should  never  have  blundered  into  Snake's;  and  if  I  hadn't 
blundered  into  Snake's  I  shouldn't  have  found  you.  I 
guess  my  parent's  just  one  of  the  few  to  whom  a  son  owes 
anything.  He  gave  me  life,  but  didn't  stop  at  that.  He 
gave  me  you." 

Hazel's  eyes  were  smiling  happily. 

"  And  in  return  you  lay  violent  hands  on  him,  and  in- 
carcerate him  while  you  do  your  best  to  rob  him." 

"  It  sounds  pretty  bad." 

"  If  I  didn't  know  you  I'd  say  that  gratitude  fell  out  of 
your  cradle  and  killed  herself  when  the  fairies  got  around 
at  your  birth.  But  you  didn't  ask  me  to  ride  all  these  miles 
in  to  —  to  say  just  all  these  nice  things  to  me,  Gordon? 
Besides,  now  you've  completed  your  —  graft,  what  about 
your  poor  long-suffering  prisoners  ?  How  are  you  going  to 
save  us  all  from  the  consequences  of  your  evil  ways?  Your 
father  will  hate  me."  The  girl  sighed  in  pretended  despair. 
"  He'll  never  consent  to  —  to " 

"Our  marriage?  Say,  if  I'm  a  judge  of  things  Til 
have  to  stand  by  so  he  don't  embrace  you  too  often,  him- 
self." 

They  both  laughed  like  the  two  happy  children  they  were. 
There  was  no  cloud  that  could  mar  the  sun  of  their  delight 
now.  Hazel,  for  all  her  fears,  had  perfect  faith  in  this 
great  reckless  creature.  She  had  never  been  able  to  obscure 


330  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

the  memory  of  his  battle  with  Slosson  on  her  behalf.  Her 
faith  was  unbounded. 

So  they  rode  on,  leaving  the  busy  new  world  the  man 
had  created  behind  them,  as  they  made  their  way  on  towards 
the  ranch.  They  were  leaving  everything  behind  them,  the 
shadows  and  sunlight  of  past  strenuous  days,  which  is  the 
way  of  youth.  They  gazed  ahead  towards  the  future  with 
every  confidence,  and  lived  in  a  perfect  present  which  con- 
tained only  their  two  selves. 

It  was  not  until  they  had  nearly  reached  the  ranch,  and 
the  wide  pasture  stocked  with  grazing  cattle  came  into  view, 
that  the  girl  was  able  to  pin  her  lover  down  to  the  urgent 
matters  which  lay  ahead  of  him.  Then  she  received  from 
that  simple  creature  the  brief  account  of  his  intentions. 
For  a  moment  she  was  staggered.  Then,  after  a  brief 
digestion  of  the  details,  she  began  to  laugh.  The  rank  ab- 
surdity and  impudence  of  them  took  her  fancy,  and  she 
found  herself  caught  in  the  humor  of  it  all,  and  ready  again 
to  carry  out  his  lightest  wish. 

"  It's  still  the  same,  you  see,"  Gordon  finished  up.  "  I 
still  want  you,  and  your  precious  help,  the  same  as  I  always 
shall.  I  just  can't  do  a  thing  without  you,  and  as  long  as 
you  are  with  me,  why,  I  don't  guess  failure's  got  a  chance 
of  getting  its  nose  in  front.  I've  got  it  all  fixed,  if  you'll 
play  your  part.  All  I  ask  is,  for  the  Lord's  sake  don't'start 
in  to  laugh  at  the  critical  time.  I  want  you  scared  to  death 
till  I  appear,  and  then  you'll  just  need  to  chase  up  an  attack 
of  hysterics  or  something,  throw  your  heels  around  and 
yell  blue  murder,  and  finish  up  by  grabbing  me  around  the 
neck,  and  fainting  dead  away  with  happiness.  The  rest 
I'll  see  to.  It's  some  situation  for  you,  but  don't  worry 
when  the  limelight  leaves  you  in  the  dark  and  finds  its  way 


PREPARING  FOR  THE  FINALE  331 

to  me.  It's  just  the  sort  of  thing  you  can  find  in  any  old 
dime  novel.  The  heroines  always  act  that  way,  and  the 
hero,  too.  When  you  get  back,  start  right  in  to  think  about 
every  dime  story  you've  ever  read.  Remember  all  the 
things  the  heroines  ever  did,  and  then  do  'em  all  yourself. 
See?  Guess  that  isn't  as  clear  as  it  might  be,  but  when 
you've  filtered  it  through  that  bright  little  head  of  yours 
it'll  be  like  spring  water  in  a  moss-grown  mountain  creek." 

"Whatever  will  he  say  when  he  knows?"  laughed  the 
girl. 

"  Say?  well,  that's  not  an  easy  guess,"  retorted  Gordon, 
with  a  responsive  laugh.  "  But,  anyway,  it's  dead  sure 
he'll  think  a  heap  more.  Say,  there's  just  one  thing  more. 
When  you  come-to  out  of  that  joyous  faint,  you  got  to 
leave  us  together  for  half  an  hour.  Maybe  you'll  have 
some  sort  of  preparation  to  make,  or  something.  Sort  of 
stagger  out  of  the  room  supported  by  me,  and  if  Hip-Lee 
attempts  to  butt  in  during  that  half  hour  —  kill  him." 

"  You  really  want  me  to  do  —  all  this  ?  "  Hazel's  laugh- 
ing eyes  were  raised  questioningly. 

"  Everything,  but  —  the  killing." 

"  The  fainting  —  really  ?  " 

"  Sure."  The  man's  eyes  opened  wide.  "  It's  the  pic- 
ture. It's  the  reality.  It's  the  local  color." 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  laughed  Hazel,  as  they  rode  up  to  the  ranch 
house.  "  I  suppose  I've  got  to  do  it." 

"You  will?" 

Gordon  flung  himself  out  of  the  saddle.  Hazel  laugh- 
ingly held  out  her  hand  in  assurance. 

"  My  hand  on  it,  Gordon,  dear,"  she  cried. 

The  man  seized  it  in  both  of  his.  Then,  regardless  of 
what  sharp  eyes  might  be  peeping  in  their  direction,  he 


332  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

reached  up,  and,  catching  her  about  the  waist,  drew  her 
down  towards  him  till  her  head  was  level  with  his,  and 
kissed  her  rapturously. 

"  Say,  you're  the  greatest  little  woman  on  earth,  and  - 
I  love  you  to  death." 

Hazel  hastily  drew  herself  out  of  his  strong  arms,  and, 
with  flushed  face,  straightened  herself  up  in  the  saddle. 

"  And  you  are  the  greatest  and  most  ridiculous  creature 
ever  let  loose  to  roam  this  world  —  and  I  —  love  you 
for  it." 

The  man  laughed.     Hazel's  laugh  joined  in. 

"Then  — to-night?" 

Hazel  nodded. 

"  Good-by,  dear  —  till  to-night." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE   RESCUE 

It  was  nearly  midnight.  The  house  was  quiet.  It  was 
so  still  as  to  suggest  no  life  at  all  within  its  simple,  hos- 
pitable walls.  It  was  in  darkness,  too,  at  least  from  the 
outside,  for  all  curtains  had  been  drawn  for  the  night,  with 
as  much  care  as  though  it  were  a  dwelling  facing  upon  some 
busy  thoroughfare  in  a  city. 

But,  late  as  the  hour  was,  the  occupants  of  the  old  ranch 
house  were  not  in  bed.  Hazel  was  awake,  and  sitting  ex- 
pectantly waiting  in  her  bedroom,  while  somewhere  within 
the  purlieus  of  the  kitchen  Hip-Lee  sat  before  an  open 
window  in  the  darkness,  doubtless  dreaming  wakefully  of 
some  flea-ridden  village  up  country  in  his  homeland. 

Upstairs,  too,  there  were  no  signs  of  those  slumbers  which 
were  so  long  overdue.  Mr.  James  Carbhoy  was  seated  in  a 
comfortable  rocker-chair  adjacent  to  his  dressing  bureau, 
making  an  effort  to  become  interested  in  the  "  History  of 
the  Conquest  of  Mexico"  by  the  light  of  a  well-trimmed 
oil  lamp. 

Not  one  word,  however,  of  the  pages  he  had  read  had 
conveyed  interest  to  his  preoccupied  mind.  It  is  doubtful 
if  their  meaning  had  been  conveyed  with  any  degree  of  con- 
tinuity. He  was  irritable  —  irritable  and  a  shade  despond- 
ent. 

He  had  been  a  captive  in  that  valley  for  over  seven  weeks, 
and  the  imprisonment  had  begun  to  tell  upon  his  stalwart 


334  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

hardihood.  Seven  long  weeks  of  his  own  company,  under 
easy  and  even  pleasant  circumstances.  Even  Hazel's  com- 
pany, shadowed  as  she  was  by  the  hated  Hip-Lee,  had  been 
denied  him.  Had  it  been  otherwise  he  might  have  felt  less 
dispirited,  for  he  liked  and  admired  her ;  and,  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  on  that  one  memorable  occasion  when  he  had 
talked  to  her  alone  she  had  betrayed,  what  he  now  was 
firmly  convinced  was  her  own  perfidious  share  in  his  kid- 
napping, he  was  human  enough  to  disregard  it,  and  only 
remember  that  she  was  an  extremely  pretty  and  wholly 
charming  creature. 

Yes,  he  knew  now  that  he  had  been  duped  by  this  daugh- 
ter of  Mallinsbee,  whom  he  knew  owned  Buffalo  Point, 
and  the  whole  thing  had  been  a  financial  coup  engineered  by 
the  "  smarts  "  who  belonged  to  his  faction.  He  had  solved 
the  whole  problem  of  his  captivity  in  one  revealing  flash, 
the  moment  he  had  learned  that  this  girl  was  the  daughter 
of  Mallinsbee.  He  had  needed  no  other  information. 
His  keenly  trained  mind,  with  its  wide  understanding  of 
the  methods  of  financial  interests,  had  driven  straight  to  the 
heart  of  the  matter.  It  was  only  the  details  which  had  been 
lacking.  But  even  these  had,  in  a  measure,  been  filled  in 
during  his  long  hours  of  solitude  and  concentrated  thought. 

It  was  some  of  the  obscured  riddles  which  beset  him 
now,  as  they  had  beset  him  for  days.  He  could  not  account 
for  his  own  confidential  agent  Slosson  in  the  matter.  Had 
he  been  bought  over  ?  It  seemed  impossible,  since  Slosson 
had  advised  the  depot  remaining  at  Snake's  Fall,  which  was 
against  Mallinsbee's  interests.  Had  he  been  dealt  with, 
too?  It  seemed  more  likely.  But  if  this  were  so  it  made 
the  daring  or  desperation  of  the  whole  coup  suggest  to  his 
mind  that  he  was  dealing  with  men  of  unusual  caliber,  and 


THE  RESCUE  335 

consequently  the  situation  possessed  for  him  possibilities  of 
a  most  unpleasant  character. 

Then,  again,  the  fact  that  they  were  content  to  leave  him 
unapproached  in  his  captivity  puzzled  and  disquieted  him 
even  more.  What  could  they  achieve  with  regard  to  the 
railroad  without  his  authority?  Nothing,  positively  noth- 
ing, he  assured  himself.  Then  what  was  the  purpose  to  be 
served?  He  could  not  even  guess,  and  the  uncertainty  of 
it  all  annoyed,  irritated,  worried  him  as  the  time  went  on. 

His  mind  was  full  of  all  these  concerns  as  he  sat  reading 
the  romantic  story  of  a  people  with  impossible  names,  and 
so  he  lost  all  the  beauties  of  one  of  the  most  perfect  ro- 
mances in  the  world.  Finally,  he  set  the  book  aside  and 
prepared  for  bed  and  more  hours  of  worried  sleepless- 
ness. 

James  Carbhoy  was  a  typical  New  Yorker  of  the  best 
type.  In  an  unexaggerated  way  he  was  fastidious  of  his 
appearance  and  gave  a  careful  regard  to  his  bodily  welfare. 
He  was  a  man  who  luxuriated  in  cleanly  habits  of  living, 
and  his  linen  was  a  sort  of  passion  with  him.  In  his  cap- 
tivity he  had  been  well  cared  for  in  this  respect,  and  the  only 
cause  he  had  for  complaint  was  the  absence  of  his  daily  bath, 
which  he  seriously  deplored. 

Now  he  went  to  the  old-fashioned  washstand,  prepared 
for  his  nightly  ablutions,  and  laid  himself  out  a  clean  suit 
of  pyjamas.  Then  he  divested  himself  of  some  of  his  upper 
garments.  He  had  just  started  to  remove  his  shirt,  and  one 
arm  still  remained  in  its  sleeve  as  he  proceeded  to  remove  it 
coatwise,  when  all  further  action  was  quite  suddenly  sus- 
pended and  he  stood  listening. 

A  sound  had  reached  his  quick  ears,  a  curious  sound 
which,  at  that  hour  of  the  night,  was  quite  incomprehensible 


336  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

to  him.  After  some  breathless  moments  he  abandoned  the 
divestment  of  his  clothing  and  swiftly  restored  his  coat  and 
vest.  Then  he  extinguished  his  light  and  drew  the  curtains 
from  before  the  window  and  opened  it  further.  He  sat 
down  on  his  bedstead  and,  resting  an  elbow  on  the  window- 
ledge,  gazed  out  into  the  starlit,  moonless  night. 

The  sound  which  had  held  his  attention  was  still  evident. 
It  was  the  sound  of  galloping  horses  in  the  distance,  the 
soft  plod  of  many  hoofs  over  the  rich  grass  of  the  valley. 
It  was  faint  but  distinct,  and,  to  this  man's  inexperienced 
ears,  suggested  a  large  party  of  horses,  probably  horsemen, 
approaching  his  prison.  With  what  object?  he  wondered, 
and,  wondering,  a  feeling  of  excitement  took  possession  of 
him. 

Five  minutes  later  his  attention  was  distracted  to  another 
direction.  Other  sounds  reached  him,  sounds  wrhich  ema- 
nated from  close  about  his  prison  itself.  There  was  a  move- 
ment going  on  just  below  him,  and  horses  were  moving 
about,  apparently  somewhere  in  front,  where  he  knew  the 
corrals  to  be.  His  excitement  increased.  In  all  his  long 
weeks  of  imprisonment  he  had  seen  nothing  of  his  captors 
and  no  signs  of  them.  Now,  apparently,  they  were  below 
him,  possibly  keeping  guard,  and  he  wondered  if  they  had 
been  there  every  night,  silent  warders,  whose  presence  had 
been  all  undiscovered  by  himself. 

It  was  difficult,  difficult  to  understand  or  to  believe.  Yet 
there  was  no  doubt  that  men  were  gathered  below;  he 
could  faintly  hear  their  voices  talking  in  hushed  tones,  and, 
equally,  he  could  plainly  hear  the  sound  of  their  horses. 
He  wished  there  was  a  moon  to  give  him  light  enough  to  see 
what  was  going  on. 

But  now  the  more  distant  sounds  had  grown  louder,  and 


THE  RESCUE  337 

as  they  grew  the  voices  below  spoke  in  less  guarded  tones. 
And  from  the  manner  of  their  speech  the  listening  man 
knew  that  something  serious  was  afoot. 

A  sudden  resolve  now  formulated  in  his  mind,  and  he 
left  his  place  at  the  window  and  stood  up.  Then  he  moved 
swiftly  to  his  door  and  opened  it.  The  house  seemed 
wrapped  in  silence,  and  he  moved  out  to  the  head  of  the 
small  flight  of  stairs  leading  to  the  floor  below.  He  passed 
down  and  reached  the  door  of  the  parlor. 

Here  he  paused  for  a  moment  listening.  All  was  still 
within,  and  he  cautiously  opened  the  door.  The  lamp  was 
lit,  and,  standing  beside  the  table,  upon  wrhich  the  breakfast 
things  were  already  set,  he  discovered  the  figure  of  the 
daughter  of  Mallinsbee  with  her  back  turned  towards  him. 
There  was  another  figure  present,  too,  and,  to  his  intense 
chagrin,  the  millionaire  beheld  the  yellow  features  of  Hip- 
Lee  near  the  curtained  window. 

However,  he  passed  into  the  room,  and  Hazel  turned  con- 
fronting him.  He  gazed  intently  into  her  face,  so  serious 
and  apparently  troubled.  The  yellow  lamplight  imparted 
a  curious  hue,  and  the  man  fancied  she  looked  seriously 
frightened. 

"What's  happening?"  he  demanded,  and  an  unusual 
brusqueness  was  in  his  tone. 

The  girl's  eyes  surveyed  his  expression  swiftly.  She 
looked  for  something  she  feared  to  discover  there,  and  the 
faintest  sigh  of  relief  escaped  her  as  she  realized  that  her 
fears  were  unfounded. 

"  That's  what  we  —  are  trying  to  find  out,"  she  replied, 
her  words  accompanied  by  a  glance  of  simple,  half-fearful 
helplessness. 

The  man  checked  the  reply  which  promptly  rose  to  his 


338  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

lips.  He  remembered  in  time  that  this  girl  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  Mallinsbee  and  that  she  was  exceedingly  pretty.  To 
the  former  he  had  no  desire  to  give  anything  away,  while 
to  the  latter  he  desired  to  display  every  courtesy. 

"  Our  guards  seem  to  be  on  the  alert,  and  —  somebody 
is  approaching,"  said  the  millionaire,  writh  a  baffling  smile. 
"  If  it  weren't  such  a  peaceful  spot  I'd  say  there  was  an 
atmosphere  of  —  trouble." 

"I  —  I  sort  of  feel  that  way,  too,"  said  Hazel  in  a  scared 
manner.  She  had  gathered  all  her  histrionic  abilities  to- 
gether, and  intended  to  use  them.  "  I  wonder  what  trouble 
it  is?" 

"  Seems  as  if  it  was  for  the  men  who  —  took  us,"  ob- 
served Carbhoy,  with  a  dryness  he  could  not  quite  dis- 
guise. 

"  You  —  mean  our  folks  have  located  our  whereabouts 
and  —  are  going  to  rescue  us  ?  " 

The  millionaire  smiled  into  the  innocent,  questioning 
eyes,  which,  he  knew,  concealed  a  humorous  guile. 

"  I  didn't  just  mean  that,"  he  said.  "  Maybe  the  trouble 
won't  come  yet."  He  glanced  at  the  Chinaman  standing 
sphinx-like  at  the  curtains.  "  Must  he  remain  ?  "  he  said, 
appealing  directly  to  the  girl. 

Hazel  felt  the  necessity  for  a  bold  move. 

"  Don't  let  him  worry  you.  We  can't  help  ourselves. 
I  dare  not  risk  offending  him."  She  conjured  a  well- 
feigned  shudder. 

The  millionaire  laughed,  and  his  laugh  left  the  girl  trou- 
bled and  disconcerted.  She  would  have  liked  to  know  what 
lay  behind  it.  However,  she  kept  to  her  attitude  of  fear. 
She  must  play  her  part  to  the  end. 

"  Hark !  "     Carbhoy  turned  his  head,  listening  intently. 


THE  RESCUE  339 

The  girl  followed  his  example.  "  Say  -  — "  The  million- 
aire broke  off,  and  his  smile  was  replaced  by  a  look  of  puz- 
zled incredulity. 

A  shot  had  been  fired.  It  was  answered  by  a  shot  from 
somewhere  close  to  the  house.  A  look  of  doubt  sprang 
into  his  gray  eyes,  and  he  darted  to  the  window  and  un- 
ceremoniously brushed  the  hated  Chinaman  aside.  He 
drew  the  curtain  cautiously  aside  and  peered  out  into  the 
Inight.  Hazel  beheld  the  change  of  expression  and  his 
quick,  alert  movements  with  satisfaction.  She  knew  that 
the  sounds  of  the  shots  had  disconcerted  him.  He  was 
more  than  impressed.  He  was  convinced. 

Then  followed  a  portentous  few  moments.  The  two  sin- 
gle shots  were  converted  into  something  like  a  rattle  of 
musketry.  And  intermingled  with  it  came  the  hoarse,  blas- 
phemous cries  of  men,  and  the  pounding  of  horses'  hoofs 
racing  hither  and  thither.  The  man  at  the  window  re- 
mained silent,  his  eyes  glued  to  the  crack  of  the  divided 
curtains.  He  saw  flashes  of  gunfire  and  the  dim  outline 
of  moving  figures.  But  the  details  of  the  scene  were  hid- 
den from  him  by  the  darkness.  Hazel,  standing  close  be- 
hind him,  rose  to  a  great  effort.  One  hand  was  laid 
abruptly  upon  his  arm,  and  her  nervous  fingers  clutched  at 
his  coat-sleeve  as  though  she  were  seeking  support.  She 
caught  a  sharp  breath. 

"  My  God !  "  she  cried  in  a  tense  whisper,  while  some- 
how her  whole  body  shook. 

Carbhoy  gave  one  glance  in  her  direction.  His  eyes 
and  features  had  become  tense  with  excitement.  With  his 
disengaged  hand  he  patted  the  girl's  with  a  reassuring  gen- 
tleness, and  finally  it  remained  resting  upon  her  clutching 
fingers. 


340  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  It's  a  scrap  up  all  right,"  he  said,  with  conviction  that 
had  no  fear  in  it.  "  But  it's  their  game,  not " 

But  his  words  were  cut  short  by  the  great  shouting  that 
went  up  outside  the  house.  Then  came  more  firing,  and 
the  sharp  plonk  of  bullets  as  they  struck  the  building  were 
plainly  heard  by  the  watchers.  Hazel  urged  the  man  at 
the  curtains  — 

"  Come  away.  For  goodness5  sake  come  away.  A  stray 
shot!  That  window!  You " 

She  strove  to  drag  the  man  away  in  a  wild  assumption 
of  panic.  But  the  millionaire  intended  to  miss  nothing 
of  what  was  going  on.  The  danger  of  his  position  did  not 
occur  to  him.  He  firmly  released  himself  from  her  clutch. 

"  You  sit  right  down,  my  dear/'  he  said  kindly.  "  Just 
get  right  out  of  line  with  this  window.  I  want  to  see  this 
out.  Say,  hark !  They're  hitting  it  up  good,  eh  ?  " 

His  eyes  were  alight  with  the  excitement  of  battle,  and 
Hazel,  watching  him,  with  fear  carefully  expressed  in  her 
eyes,  could  not  help  but  admire  the  spirit  of  her  lover's 
father,  and  more  than  ever  regret  the  part  she  was  forced 
to  play. 

She  withdrew  obediently  as  the  sounds  of  battle  waxed 
and  the  cries  of  the  combatants  made  the  still  night  hideous. 
The  firing  had  become  almost  incessant,  and  the  bullets 
seemed  to  hail  upon  the  building  from  every  direction. 
Then,  too,  the  galloping  horses  added  to  the  tumult,  and 
it  was  pretty  obvious  the  defenders  were  charging  their 
opponents. 

"  There  seems  to  be  about  two  to  one  attacking,"  said  the 
millionaire  over  his  shoulder  presently. 

As  he  turned  he  surveyed  with  pity  the  strong  look  of 
terror  the  girl  had  contrived.  He  never  once  looked  in 


THE  RESCUE  341 

the  detested  Chinaman's  direction.  In  his  heart  he  would 
not  have  regretted  a  chance  shot  disturbing  those  yellow, 
immobile  features. 

Then,  turning  back  again  quickly  — 

"I  wonder!" 

Now  that  the  battle  seemed  to  be  at  its  height,  and  whilst 
awaiting  its  issue,  he  had  time  for  conjecture.  What  was 
the  meaning  of  it?  And  who  were  the  attacking  party? 
Was  Slosson  at  its  head?  Had  Harker  sent  up  and  was 
this  a  sheriff's  posse  ?  Both  seemed  possible.  Yet  neither, 
somehow,  convinced  him.  Whoever  were  attacking,  it  was 
pretty  certain  in  his  mind  that  his  release  was  the  object. 

But  the  moment  passed,  and  he  became  absorbed  once 
more  in  the  battle  itself.  It  seemed  miraculous  to  his  twen- 
tieth-century ideas  that  such  a  condition  of  things  could 
prevail.  Why,  it  was  like  the  old  romantic  days  of  the 
hard  drinking,  hard  swearing  "bad  men,"  and  a  sort  of 
boyish  delight  in  the  excitement  of  it  all  swept  through  his 
veins.  He  had  no  time  or  thought  for  the  part  the  now 
terror-stricken  girl  had  played  in  his  captivity.  All  he  felt 
was  a  large-hearted,  chivalrous  regret  for  her  present  con- 
dition, of  which  no  doubt  remained  in  his  mind. 

A  rush  of  horsemen  charged  up  to  the  building.  The 
watching  man  saw  their  outline  distinctly.  There  seemed 
to  him  at  least  eight  or  ten.  He  saw  another  crowd,  smaller 
numerically,  charge  at  them,  and  then  the  revolvers  spat 
out  their  vicious  flashes  of  ruddy  fire.  The  crowd  dis- 
persed and  gathered  again.  Another  fusillade.  Then 
something  seemed  to  happen.  The  whole  crowd  swept 
away  in  the  darkness,  and  the  sounds  of  shooting  and  the 
cries  of  men  died  away  into  the  distance. 

He  waited  awhile  to  assure  himself  that,  so  far  as  their 


342  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

position  was  concerned,  the  battle  was  at  an  end.     Then 
he  turned  away  from  the  window. 

"  They've  cleaned  'em  out,"  he  said  sharply.     "  I  can't 
tell  whose  outed.     They've  ridden  off  at  the  gallop,  firing 
and  cursing  as  they  went.     Maybe  our  captors  have  driven 
the    others    off.     Maybe    it's    the    other    way.     We'll  - 
hark!" 

He  was  back  at  the  window  again  in  a  second. 

"  They're  coming  back,"  he  cried.     "  Say  - 

Hazel  was  at  his  side  in  a  moment. 

"Are  they  the ?" 

"  Can't  say  who,"  cried  Carbhoy,  peering  intently.  "  A 
big  bunch  of  'em." 

"  Our  men  were  only  four,"  said  Hazel  quickly. 

The  millionaire  was  too  intent  to  look  round,  and  so  he 
missed  the  girl's  smile  over  at  Hip-Lee.  But  the  tone  of 
her  voice  was  unmistakable  in  its  anxiety. 

"  There's  eight  or  more  here,"  he  cried.  "  Say,  they're 
dismounting !  They're " 

"  They're  coming  into  the  house ! "  cried  Hazel  in  an 
extravagant  panic.  "  They " 

At  that  instant  a  loud  voice  beyond  the  door  of  the  room 
was  heard  shouting  to  the  men  outside  — 

"  Keep  a  keen  eye  while  I  go  through  the  house !  Don't 
let  a  soul  escape.  If  they've  hurt  one  hair  of  her  head 
somebody's  going  to  pay,  and  pay  dear." 

The  millionaire  was  standing  stock  still  in  the  middle 
of  the  room.  A  curious  look  was  gleaming  in  his  steady 
eyes.  Hazel,  in  the  midst  of  her  pretended  panic,  beheld 
it  and  interpreted  it.  She  read  in  it  a  recognition  of  the 
speaker's  voice,  but  she  also  read  incredulity  and  amaze- 
ment. 


THE  RESCUE  343 

But  at  that  instant  the  door  burst  open  and  a  great  figure 
rushed  headlong  into  the  room.  As  the  girl  beheld  it  she 
flung  wide  her  arms  and,  with  a  cry,  ran  towards  the  in- 
truder. 

"  Gordon !  Gordon !  At  last,  at  last ! "  she  cried. 
"  Oh,  I  thought  you  would  never  find  me !  Never,  never !  " 

Her  final  exclamations  were  lost  in  the  bosom  of  his 
tweed  coat,  as  she  flung  herself  into  his  arms  and  burst  into 
a  flood  of  hysterical  weeping  and  laughter. 

"  Hazel !  My  poor  little  Hazel !  Say,  I've  been  nearly 
crazy.  I " 

Gordon  broke  off,  the  girl  still  lying  in  his  arms.  His 
eyes  had  lifted  to  the  face  of  his  father,  and  their  keen, 
steady  glance  became  instantly  absorbed  by  the  gray  specu- 
lation behind  the  other's. 

"Dad!     You?" 

The  astonishment,  the  incredulity  were  perfect.  They 
might  well  have  deceived  anybody. 

"  Sure,"  said  the  millionaire  dryly.  Then,  "  I  don't  guess 
they've  hurt  her  any,  though.  Maybe  you  best  hand  her 
over  to  her  father,"  he  went  on,  pointing  at  the  burly  fig- 
ure of  Silas  Mallinsbee,  who,  with  his  patch  well  down 
over  his  eye,  had  appeared  at  that  moment  in  the  doonvay. 
"  Guess  he'll  know  how  to  soothe  her  some.  Meanwhile 
you'll  maybe  tell  me  how  you  lit  on  our  trail." 

The  man's  smile  was  disarming,  yet  Gordon  fancied  he 
detected  a  shadow  of  that  lurking  irony  which  he  knev 
well  in  his  father. 

He  turned  about,  however,  and  passed  Hazel  over  to  the 
rancher,  while  he  added  tender  injunctions  — 

"  Say,  Mr.  Mallinsbee,  she's  scared  all  to  death.  You 
best  get  her  to  bed.  Poor  little  girl!  Say,  I'd  like- 


344  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

But  he  did  not  complete  his  sentence.  Instead  he  turned 
to  his  father,  as  Hazel,  with  difficulty  restraining  her  laugh- 
ter, was  led  from  the  room  by  her  solemn-faced,  fierce- 
eyed  parent. 

"  Say,  Dad,  what  in  the  name  of  all  creation  has  brought 
you  here?  " 

The  millionaire  turned,  and  a  cold  eye  of  hatred  settled 
upon  the  background  which  Hip-Lee  formed  to  the  picture. 

"Do  we  need  that  yellow  reptile  present?"  he  said  un- 
emotionally. 

"  I  guess  not,"  said  Gordon  readily.  Then  he  pointed 
the  door  to  the  Mongolian.  "  Get !  "  he  ejaculated.  And 
the  injunction  was  acted  upon  with  silent  alacrity. 

Then  the  two  men  faced  each  other. 

"Well?"  demanded  the  father. 

The  son  smiled  amiably. 

"  Well?  "  he  retorted.     And  both  men  sat  down. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

CASHING   IN 

Gordon's  eyes  were  alight  with  a  wonder  that  somehow 
lacked  reality  as  he  dropped  into  the  chair  beside  the  table. 

"You?     You?'5  he  murmured.     Then  aloud:     "It- 
it's  incredible ! "     Then,  with  an  impulsive  gesture.     "  In 
the  name  of  all  that's  crazy  what's  —  what's  the  meaning 
of  it?     How  in  the  world  have  you  got  into  the  hands  of 
these  ruffians?" 

His  father  selected  one  of  the  two  remaining  cigars  in  his 
case,  and  passed  the  other  across. 

"  Try  again,"  he  said  quietly,  as  he  bit  the  end  off  his. 

But  Gordon  did  not  "  try  again."  He  took  the  proffered 
cigar,  and  sat  devouring  the  silent  figure  and  sphinx-like 
face  of  the  other,  while  he  felt  like  one  who  had  received 
a  douche  of  ice-cold  water  from  a  pail.  His  acting  had 
missed  fire,  and  he  knew  it  He  wondered  how  much  else 
of  his  efforts  had  missed  fire  with  this  abnormally  acute 
man.  He  had  intended  this  to  be  the  moment  of  his  tri- 
umph. He  had  intended  to  lay  before  his  father  his  talent 
of  silver,  doubled  and  redoubled  an  hundredfold.  He 
had  intended,  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  youthful  vanity,  to 
display  the  triumph  of  his  understanding  of  the  modern 
methods  of  dealing  with  the  affairs  of  finance.  He  was  go- 
ing to  prove  his  theories  up  to  the  hilt. 

Now,  somehow,  he  felt  that  whatever  victory  he  had 
achieved  the  clear,  keen  brain  behind  his  father's  steady 


346  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

gray  eyes  saw  through  him  completely,  right  down  into  the 
deepest  secrets  which  he  had  believed  to  be  securely  hid- 
den. Face  to  face  with  this  man,  who  had  spent  all  the 
long  years  of  his  life  studying  how  best  to  beat  his  fellow 
man,  his  acting  became  but  a  paltry  mask  which  obscured 
nothing.  "  Try  again."  Such  simple  words,  but  so  sig- 
nificant. No,  it  was  useless  to  "  try  again  "  with  this  dear, 
shrewd  creature  he  was  so  f  utilely  endeavoring  to  deceive. 

The  cold  of  the  gray  eyes  had  changed.  It  was  only  a 
slight  change,  but  to  Gordon,  who  understood  his  father 
so  well,  it  was  clearly  perceptible  and  indicative  of  the  mood 
behind.  There  was  a  suggestion  of  a  smile  in  them,  an 
ironical,  half-humorous  smile  that  scattered  all  his  carefully 
made  plans. 

The  millionaire  struck  a  match  and  held  it  out  to  light 
his  son's  cigar,  and,  as  Gordon  leaned  forward,  their  eyes 
met  in  a  steady  regard. 

"Nothing  doing?"  inquired  the  father,  as  he  carefully 
lit  his  own  cigar  from  the  same  match. 

Gordon  shook  his  head,  and  his  eyes  smiled  whimsically. 

"Then  I  best  do  first  talk."  The  millionaire  leaned 
back  in  his  chair  and  breathed  out  a  thin  spiral  of  smoke. 
Then  he  sighed.  "  Good  smokes  these.  Mallinsbee's  a 
man  of  taste." 

"Mallinsbee?" 

"  Sure." 

"  Go  on." 

"  He's  kept  me  well  supplied.  Also  with  good  wine.  I 
owe  him  quite  a  debt  —  that  way.  Say "  The  mil- 
lionaire paused  reflectively.  Then  he  went  on  in  the  man- 
ner of  a  man  who  has  arrived  at  a  complete  and  definite 
decision :  "  Guess  it  would  take  hours  asking  questions 


CASHING  IN  347 

and  getting  answers.  It's  not  my  way,  and  I  don't  guess 
I'm  a  lawyer  anyway,  and  you  aren't  a  shady  witness.  We 
know  just  how  to  talk  out  straight.  I've  had  over  seven 
weeks  to  think  in  —  and  thinking  with  me  is  —  a  disease. 
Let's  go  back.  I  had  a  neat  land  scoop  working  up  here. 
Slosson  was  working  it.  He's  been  a  secret  agent  of 
mine  for  years.  I've  no  reason  to  distrust  him.  He  fixes 
things  right  for  us  and  sends  word  for  me  to  come  along. 
That's  happened  many  times  before.  It's  not  new,  or  — 
unusual.  When  I  get  here  I'm  met  by  a  very  charming 
young  girl  with  a  rig  and  team.  Her  excuse  for  meet- 
ing me  is  reasonable.  The  rest  is  easy.  We  are  both  held 
up,  and  brought  here  —  captives.  Then  I  start  in  to  think 
a  lot.  Argument  don't  carry  me  more  than  a  mile  till  that 
same  charming  girl,  who's  just  done  all  she  knew  to  make 
things  right  for  me,  makes  her  first  break.  When  I  found 
out  she  was  the  daughter  of  Mallinsbee  I  did  all  the  think- 
ing needed  in  half  an  hour.  I  knew  I  was  to  be  rolled  on 
this  land  deal  by  Mallinsbee's  crowd,  and,  judging  by  the 
methods  adopted,  to  be  rolled  good.  You  see  we'd  had  ne- 
gotiations with  Mallinsbee  about  his  land  at  Buffalo  Point 
before.  See?" 

Gordon  silently  nodded. 

His  father  breathed  heavily,  and,  with  a  wry  twist  of  his 
lips,  rolled  his  cigar  firmly  into  the  corner  of  his  mouth. 

"  Now,  when  I'd  done  thinking  it  just  left  me  guessing 
in  two  directions.  One  of  'em  I  answered  more  or  less 
satisfactorily.  This  was  the  one  I  answered.  What  had 
become  of  Slosson?  Had  he  been  handled  by  these  folk, 
or  had  he  doubled?  The  latter  I  counted  out.  I've  ahvays 
had  him  where  I  wanted  him.  He  wouldn't  dare.  So  I 
said  he'd  been  '  handled.'  The  other  was  how  could  they 


348  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

hope  to  deal  with  the  Union  Grayling  without  my  author- 
ity? That's  still  unanswered,  though  I  see  a  gleam  of  day- 
light —  since  meeting  you  here.  However,  Gordon  boy, 
you've  certainly  given  me  the  surprise  of  my  life  —  find- 
ing you  associated  with  Mallinsbee  —  and  taken  to  play- 
acting. That  was  a  pretty  piece  outside  with  guns.  I  al- 
low it  got  me  fine.  But  you  overdid  it  showing  in  here. 
That  also  told  me  another  thing.  It  told  me  that  a  feller 
can  spend  a  lifetime  making  a  bright  man  of  himself,  while 
it  only  takes  a  pretty  gal  five  seconds  yanking  out  one 
of  the  key-stones  to  the  edifice  he's  built.  I  guess  I've 
been  mighty  sorry  for  your  lady  friend.  I  guessed  she  was 
pining  to  death  for  her  folks,  and  was  scared  to  death  of 
that  darnation  Chink.  However,  I'm  relieved  to  find  she's 
just  a  bunch  of  bright  wits,  and  don't  lack  in  natural  female 
ability  for  play-acting.  Maybe  you  can  hand  me  some 
about  those  directions  I'm  still  guessing  in.  I'll  smoke 
while  you  say  some." 

Father  and  son  smiled  into  each  other's  faces  as  the  elder 
finished  speaking.  But  while  Gordon's  smile  was  one  of 
genuine  admiration,  his  father's  still  savored  of  that  irony 
which  warned  the  younger  that  all  was  by  no  means  plain 
sailing  yet 

"  I'm  glad  you  feel  that  way  about  Hazel,  Dad,"  cried 
Gordon,  his  face  flushing  with  genuine  pleasure.  "  She's 
some  girl.  I  guess  I'm  the  luckiest  feller  alive  winning  her 
for  a  wife,  eh?  " 

'  You're  going  to  —  marry  her  ?  " 
"  Why,  yes.     She's  the  greatest,  the  best,  the  - 
"  Just  so.     But  we're  not  both  going  to  marry  her." 
Gordon  flung  back  in  his  chair  with  a  great  laugh.     But 
his  father's  eyes  still  maintained  their  irony. 


CASHING  IN  349 

"  Say,  I'm  sort  of  sorry  talking  that  way  now.  There's 
other  things."  Gordon  fumbled  in  his  pocket  while  he 
went  on.  "Slosson?  Why  Slosson's  trying  to  stave  off 
pneumonia  in  a  disused,  perforated  shack  way  up  on  Mal- 
linsbee's  ranch.  He's  a  skunk  of  a  man  anyway,  and  I 
had  to  let  him  know  I  thought  that  way.  I  haven't  heard 
about  the  pneumonia  yet,  but  if  he  got  it  I  don't  guess  it 
would  give  me  nightmare."  Then  he  handed  across  a  small 
volume  in  morocco  binding  which  he  had  taken  from  his 
pocket.  "  I  don't  seem  to  think  you'll  need  much  explana- 
tion about  the  other.  That's  your  code  book,  which  I  for- 
got to  return  in  the  hurry  of  quitting  New  York." 

The  millionaire  turned  the  cover,  closed  it  again,  and 
quietly  bestowed  it  in  his  pocket. 

"  Guess  I'll  keep  this,"  he  said  without  emotion.  "  Yes, 
it  tells  me  a  lot.  It  tells  me  I've  credited  Mallinsbee  and  his 
crowd  with  the  work  of  my  son.  It  tells  me  that  my  own 
son  is  solely  responsible  for  the  idea,  and  execution,  of 
rolling  his  father  on  this  land  deal.  It  tells  me  that  the 
principles  of  big  finance  must  have  a  fertile  resting  place 
somewhere  in  my  son.  Well,  there's  quite  a  lot  of  time 
before  daylight." 

It  had  been  an  anxious  moment  for  Gordon  when  he 
handed  back  the  private  code  book,  and  he  had  watched 
his  father  closely.  He  was  seeking  any  sign  of  anger,  or 
regret,  or  even  pain,  as  his  own  actions  became  apparent  to 
the  other.  There  were  no  such  signs.  There  was  only  that 
non-committal  half  smile,  and  it  left  him  still  uncertain. 

His  father's  patience  seemed  inexhaustible.  Had  Gor- 
don only  realized  it  this  was  the  very  sign  he  should  have 
looked  for  in  such  a  man.  James  Carbhoy  loved  his  son 
as  few  men  regard  their  offspring,  but  he  wanted  his  son 


350  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

to  be  something  more  than  a  mere  object  of  his  affection. 
He  wanted  him  to  be  an  object  upon  which  he  could  be- 
stow all  the  enormous  pride  of  a  self-made  man.  He 
wanted  to  feel  that  exquisite  thrill  of  triumph  resulting  to 
his  vanity,  that  Gordon  was  his  son  —  the  son  of  his 
father. 

"  Yes,  there's  quite  a  while  before  daylight,  Dad,  and 
I'm  glad."  Gordon  ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair.  "  So 
I'd  better  hand  it  you  from  the  beginning.  I  want  you  to 
get  a  right  understanding  of  my  motives.  It  was  oppor- 
tunity. That  thing  you've  always  taught  me  fools  most  al- 
ways try  to  dodge,  and  most  good  men  generally  miss." 

His  father  nodded  and  Gordon  settled  himself  afresh  in 
his  chair. 

"  Yes,  I'm  in  this  thing,  Dad,"  he  went  on,  after  the 
briefest  of  pauses.  "  In  it  right  up  to  my  neck,"  he  added, 
with  a  whimsical  smile.  "  It  was  the  opportunity  I  needed 
to  make  good.  Being  neither  a  fool  nor  a  good  man  I 
took  it,  and  now  I  sit  with  a  wad  of  one  hundred  and  five 
thousand  dollars  in  good  United  States  currency.  It's  here 
in  my  pocket,  and  I'm  ready  to  hand  it  over  to  you  in  pay- 
ment for  those  old  debts.  You  will  observe  I  have  still 
eight  weeks  of  my  six  months  to  run.  I  want  to  say,  as 
you'll  no  doubt  agree  when  you've  heard  my  story,  that 
I've  made,  or  acquired  it,  through  graft  and  piracy,  such 
as  I  talked  about  to  you  awhile  back,  and,  as  far  as  I  can 
see,  my  method  has  been  as  completely  dishonest  as  an  hon- 
est man  could  adopt.  Dad,  I've  always  regarded  your  sense 
of  humor  as  one  of  your  greatest  attributes,  but  whether 
it'll  stand  for  the  way  I've  treated  you,  even  with  my  inti- 
mate knowledge  of  you,  I'm  not  prepared  to  guess.  This 
is  the  yarn." 


CASHING  IN  351 

Gordon  plunged  into  the  story  without  further  preamble 
while  his  father  sat  and  smoked  on  with  that  half  smile 
still  fixed  in  his  gray  eyes.  The  younger  man  watched  the 
still,  inscrutable,  sphinx-like  figure  with  eyes  of  grave 
speculation.  He  missed  no  detail  in  the  story  of  his  irre- 
sponsibility and  haphazard  adventure.  He  started  at  the 
moment  when  he  booked  his  passage  for  Seattle,  and  car- 
ried it  on  right  down  to  the  melodramatic  moment  when 
he  burst  into  that  parlor  to  rescue  the  girl  he  loved  from 
a  peril  which  he  knew  had  never  threatened  her.  He  told 
it  all  with  a  detail  that  spared  neither  himself,  nor  the  con- 
fidential agent  Slosson,  nor  any  one  else  concerned.  He 
showed  up  the  spirit  of  graft  which  actuated  every  step 
of  his  progress,  and  did  not  hesitate  to  apply  the  lash  with 
merciless  force  upon  the  railroad  organization  his  father 
controlled. 

And  right  through,  from  beginning  to  end,  the  million- 
aire listened  without  sign  or  comment.  He  wanted  to  hear 
all  this  boy  —  his  boy  —  had  to  say.  And  as  he  went  on 
that  pride,  parental  pride,  in  him  grew  and  grew. 

At  the  end  of  the  story  Gordon  added  a  final  com- 
ment— 

"  I  want  to  say,  Dad,  I  haven't  done  this  all  myself.  I've 
had  the  help  of  two  of  the  most  cheerful,  lovable  rascals 
I've  ever  met.  Also  the  help  of  one  honest  man.  But 
above  all,  through  the  whole  thing,  I've  been  supported  by 
the  smile  of  the  sweetest  and  best  woman  in  the  world,  the 
girl  who's  done  her  best  to  care  for  your  comfort  here. 
She's  sacrificed  all  scruples  to  help  me  out,  while  her  father, 
bless  him,  has  never  approved  any  of  my  dirty  schemes. 
There  you  are,  Dad,  that's  the  yarn.  I  don't  guess  it'll 
make  you  shout  for  joy,  but,  anyway,  you  started  me  out 


352  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

to  make  good  —  anyway  I  chose  —  and  I've  made  good. 
Furthermore,  I've  made  good  within  the  time  limit,  and, 
in  making  good,  I'm  bringing  back  a  wife  to  our  home  city. 
I'm  standing  on  my  own  legs  now,  as  you  always  guessed 
you  wanted  me  to,  and  if  you  don't  just  fancy  the  gait  I 
travel  —  why,  it's  up  to  you.  That's  mine  —  now  you  say." 

The  fixity  of  his  father's  attitude  had  driven  Gordon  to 
say  more  than  he  had  intended,  but  he  meant  it,  every  word, 
nor  did  he  regard  his  parent  with  any  less  affection  for  it. 
But  now,  as  he  awaited  a  response,  a  certain  unease  was 
tugging  at  his  heartstrings. 

At  last  the  millionaire  rose  from  his  seat  and  crossed 
to  the  curtained  window.  He  drew  the  curtains  aside,  and, 
raising  the  sash,  flung  out  his  cigar  stump.  Then  for  a 
moment  he  gazed  out  at  the  moonless  night.  While  he 
stood  thus  the  smile  in  his  thoughtful  eyes  deepened. 

At  last,  however,  he  turned  back,  and  the  face  that  con- 
fronted the  son  he  loved  wore  the  sharp,  hawk-like  look 
which  his  opponents  in  the  business  world  of  New  York 
were  so  familiar  with. 

"  That's  all  right,"  he  said  sharply.  "  But  —  you've  for- 
gotten something." 

Gordon  became  extremely  alert. 

"  Have  I  ?  "  Then  he  laughed.  "  It  'ud  be  a  miracle  if 
I  hadn't." 

"  Sure.  Most  folks  forget  something.  I  forgot  that 
code  book." 

"  Yes." 

Their  eyes  met. 

"  You've  forgotten  that  I  can  stop  the  work  at  Buffalo 
Point.  You've  forgotten  that  you've  passed  out  of  the 
realms  of  simple  graft  and  plunged  into  criminal  proceed- 


CASHING  IN  353 

ings,  which  brings  you  within  the  shadow  of  the  law. 
You've  forgotten  that  I  can  smash  your  schemes,  break  you, 
and  send  you  to  penitentiary  —  you  and  your  entire  gang." 

The  steady  eyes  were  deadly  as  they  coldly  backed  the 
sharp  pronouncement  of  the  words.  Gordon  was  caught 
by  the  painful  emotion  which  the  harshness  of  them  in- 
spired. He  knew  that  his  father  had  spoken  the  simple 
truth.  He  knew  that  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  he  was  a 
plain  criminal.  The  unpleasant  feeling  was  instantly 
thrust  aside,  however.  He  had  not  embarked  upon  this  af- 
fair without  intending  to  carry  it  through  to  the  end  he  de- 
sired. 

"  I  haven't  forgotten  those  things,  Dad,"  he  said,  with 
a  sharpness  equal  to  the  other's.     "  I  thought  of  'em  all  - 
and  prepared  for  'em.     I'm  not  playing.     You  put  this  thing 
up  to  me.     I'm  here  to  see  it  through." 

"  And  then?  "  There  was  a  shade  of  sarcasm  in  the  mil- 
lionaire's tone. 

"  Then?  Why,  I  could  tell  you  lots  of  reasons  why  you 
can't  do  any  of  these  things.  There's  arguments  that  I 
don't  guess  you've  missed  already.  But,  anyway,  just  one 
little  fact  '11  be  sufficient  to  go  on  with.  You're  here  a  cap- 
tive, and  you  can't  get  away  till  I  give  the  word." 

For  one  of  the  very  few  times  in  his  life  James  Carbhoy 
was  seriously  disconcerted.  Choler  began  to  rise,  and  a  hot 
flush  tinged  his  cheeks  and  his  eyes  sparkled. 

«  You  —  would  keep  me  here  a  prisoner  —  indefinitely  ?  " 
he  exploded. 

"  I'm  not  playing,  Dad,"  Gordon  warned. 

Gordon  had  risen  from  his  chair,  and  the  two  stood  eye 
to  eye.  It  was  a  tense  moment,  full  of  potent  possibilities. 
One  of  them  must  give  way,  or  a  clash  would  inevitably 


354  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

follow,  a  clash  which  would  probably  destroy  forever  that 
perfect  devotion  which  had  always  existed  between  them. 

For  Gordon  it  was  a  moment  of  extreme  pain.  But  in 
him  was  no  thought  of  yielding.  From  his  father  it  was 
his  invincible  determination  to  force  an  acknowledgment  of 
fitness  in  human  affairs  as  he  understood  them. 

At  that  moment  there  was  no  humor  in  the  situation  for 
him. 

In  the  older  man,  however,  humor  was  perhaps  more  ma- 
tured. Parental  affection,  too,  is  perhaps  a  bigger,  wider, 
deeper  thing  than  the  filial  emotions  of  youth.  He  had 
only  intended  to  test  this  son  of  his.  His  challenge  had 
been  intended  to  try  him,  to  confound.  But  the  confound- 
ing had  been  with  him  in  the  shock  of  his  son's  irrevocable 
determination. 

That  moment  of  natural  resentment  passed  as  swiftly  as 
it  had  arisen.  Gordon  was  all,  and  even  more,  he  told  him- 
self dryly,  than  he  had  hoped.  And  so  the  moment  passed, 
and  the  hard,  gray  eyes  melted  to  a  kindly,  whimsical  smile 
which  had  not  one  vestige  of  irony  in  it. 

"You're  a  blamed  young  scamp,"  he  said  cordially; 
"  but  —  I'm  afraid  I  like  you  all  the  better  for  it.  Say,  do 
you  think  that  little  girl  of  yours  and  her  father  have  gone 
to  bed  yet?" 

Gordon  reached  across,  holding  out  his  hand. 

"  Dear  old  Dad,"  he  cried,  "  I'm  dead  sure  we'll  find  'em 
both  not  a  mile  the  other  side  of  that  door.  The  game's 
played  out,  and  —  we  quit?  " 

The  father  caught  his  son's  hand  and  wrung  it. 

"  It's  played  out,  boy;  and  God  bless  you !  "  They  stood 
for  a  moment  hand  gripped  in  hand.  Then  the  millionaire 
pointed  at  the  door. 


HE  DREW  HER  GENTLY  TOWARDS  His  FATHER 


CASHING  IN  355 

"  I'd  like  to  see  'em  before  —  daylight." 

With  a  delighted  laugh  Gordon  turned  away  to  the  door 
and  flung  it  open. 

"Say,"  he  called,  "Hazel!    Ho!     Mr.  Mallinsbee ! " 

In  a  moment  Hazel  had  darted  to  her  lover's  side,  and 
was  followed  more  decorously  by  the  burly  rancher,  with 
his  patch  well  down  over  one  eye.  Gordon  pointed  at  it. 

"Guess  you  can  do  without  that,  Mr.  Mallinsbee. 
You're  not  going  to  face  an  opponent ;  you're  going  to  meet 
a  — friend." 

He  slid  his  arm  about  the  girl's  waist  and  drew  her  gently 
forward  towards  his  father  standing  waiting  to  receive  her 
with  humorously  twinkling  eyes. 

"  So  you're  to  be  my  little  daughter,"  cried  the  million- 
aire kindly.  "  Well,  my  dear,  I'm  glad.  I  like  grit,  and 
you've  got  it  plenty.  I  like  a  pretty  face,  and  —  but  I 
guess  Gordon's  told  you  all  about  that.  Seeing  you're  to  be 
my  daughter  —  and  Gordon's  left  me  no  choice  in  the  mat- 
ter, the  same  as  he  left  me  no  choice  in  other  things  —  I 
feel  I've  the  right  to  tell  you  you're  a  pair  of  —  as  imperti- 
nent young  rascals  as  I've  ever  had  the  happiness  to  claim 
relationship  with.  Let  me  see,  just  come  here,  and  —  Gor- 
don owes  me  for  many  nights  of  anxiety,  and  I  guess  I've 
a  right  to  make  him  pay.  I'll  be  satisfied  with  the  payment 
of  a  kiss  from  you." 

He  held  out  his  arms,  and  Hazel,  with  a  joyous  laugh  and 
blushing  cheeks,  ran  to  them. 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear,"  laughed  the  millionaire,  as  the 
girl  frankly  kissed  him.  "And  that's  the  change."  He 
closed  his  arms  about  her  and  returned  her  kiss. 

Then,  when  he  had  released  her,  he  turned  to  Mallinsbee 
and  held  out  his  hand. 


356  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

"  I  can  always  make  friends  with  the  fellow  who  licks 
me,  Mr.  Mallinsbee.  I'm  glad  to  meet  you  —  with  that 
patch  removed  from  your  eye.  The  game's  played  and 
you've  won,  and  I  promise  you  all  that's  been  done  in  my 
name  by  my  son  goes.  You  see,  henceforth  he's  my  part- 
ner now,  so  he's  the  right  to  act  in  my  name.  I'm  trust- 
ing him  with  my  dollars,  but  you  are  trusting  him  with 
something  far  more  precious.  I  hope  he'll  prove  as  good 
a  son  to  you  as,  I'm  glad  to  say,  I  consider  he's  been  to 
me." 

Mallinsbee  smiled  a  little  sadly,  and  his  eyes  gazed  ten- 
derly in  Hazel's  direction. 

"  Directly  that  boy  of  yours  come  around,  Mr.  Carb- 
hoy,  I  felt  the  chill  of  winter  beating  up.  I'm  glad  he  come, 
though  —  I  like  him.  But,"  he  added,  with  a  sigh,  "  I'll 
sure  need  to  bank  those  furnaces  some." 

Hazel  left  the  millionaire's  side  and  crossed  to  her  father, 
and  passed  her  arm  about  his  vast  waist. 

"  Don't  start  yet,  Daddy,"  she  said,  smiling  up  at  the 
rugged  face.  "  I  haven't  left  you  yet,  and  when  I  do  it's 
only  going  to  be  for  a  small  piece  at  a  time." 

Silas  Mallinsbee  shook  his  head. 

"  Don't  you  worry,  little  gal,"  he  said  gently.  "  I  guess 
this  winter's  goin'  to  be  a  mild  one.  You  see,  I'm  goin'  to 
have  a  son  as  well  as  a  daughter,  and  —  who  knows?  — 
maybe  grandsons " 

But  Hazel  had  quickly  pressed  one  hand  over  his  lips  and 
stifled  the  possibilities  he  was  about  to  enumerate. 

Gordon  laughed,  and  his  father  smiled  over  at  the  other 
father. 

"  See,  Mr.  Mallinsbee,  we  don't  need  to  worry  with  the 
summer,"  Gordon  cried.  "  Summer  generally  fixes  things 


CASHING  IN  357 

right  for  itself.  Meanwhile  we'll  just  make  the  winter  as 
easy  as  we  can.  You've  given  your  little  girl  to  me,  and 
she's  all  you  care  for  in  the  world.  Well,  that's  a  trust 
that  demands  all  the  best  I  can  give.  I  won't  fail  you.  I 
won't  fail  her.  And  you,  Dad,  I  won't  fail  you." 

"  Good  boy,"  said  the  millionaire,  with  a  glow  of  pride. 
"  I  just  know  it,  and  —  I  know  it  for  Mr.  Mallinsbee 
and  Hazel,  too,  if  they  don't  know  it  for  themselves. 
Say " 

For  a  moment  his  eyes  grew  serious.  Then  into  them 
crept  a  gleam  of  twinkling  humor  which  found  reflection  on 
the  faces  of  both  Gordon  and  Hazel,  who  waited  for  him  to 
complete  what  he  had  to  say. 

"  You've  told  your  mother,  Gordon  ? "  he  inquired. 
"  Seems  to  me  you've  told  her  'most  everything  in  those  — 
chatty  —  letters  of  yours." 

Gordon  grinned  and  shook  his  head,  while  Hazel  waited 
—  not  without  some  apprehension.  His  father's  smile 
gave  way  to  a  quaint  expression  of  awe  at  such  negli- 
gence. 

"  I'd  say  she'd  be  pleased,  of  course,"  the  millionaire 
said,  without  conviction.  "  It's  a  mercy  not  always  be- 
stowed on  a  boy  to  get  a  wife  like  —  Hazel.  Your 
mother's  a  mighty  good  woman,  Gordon,  and  I'll  allow 
she's  got  her  ways  about  things.  But  she's  good,  and  I 
guess  she'll  just  take  to  Hazel  right  away." 

There  was  no  confidence  in  his  manner,  in  spite  of  the 
bravery  of  his  words.  But  Gordon  quickly  cleared  the  at- 
mosphere with  his  cheery  confidence. 

"  You  leave  the  dear  old  mater  to  me,  Dad,"  he  cried. 
"You  see,  you  only  married  her  —  she  raised  me.  I'll 
write  her  to-night,  and  —  say,  that  reminds  me,"  he  added, 


358  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

glancing  at  his  watch.  "  D'aylight'll  be  around  directly. 
Hazel  needs  her  rest.  Hadn't  we " 

Hazel  laughed.  She  had  no  real  desire  for  bed,  but  she 
was  tired,  weary  with  the  strain  of  all  the  swiftly  moving 
events.  She  caught  at  his  suggestion  and  demanded  com- 
pliance. 

"  Yes,"  she  cried.  "  There's  another  day  to-morrow. 
Oh,  that  wonderful  to-morrow !  A  long,  bright,  happy  day 
in  which  we  have  nothing  to  conceal,  no  wicked  schemes 
to  be  worked  out.  A  day  of  real  happiness,  when  we  can 
just  be  our  real  selves.  Let's  all  go  to  bed  and  dream 
our  dreams  with  the  full  certainty  that,  however  happy  our 
to-day  is,  to-morrow  has  always  the  possibility  of  being 
happier." 

But  Gordon  did  not  write  the  promised  letter  that  night. 
He  held  long  communion  with  himself,  and  decided  to  send 
a  telegram.  He  realized  that  diplomacy  must  be  brought 
to  bear,  for  his  mother,  with  all  her  exquisite  qualities, 
possessed  a  slightly  arbitrary  side  to  her  character  where 
her  home  and  belongings  were  concerned.  Therefore  he 
decided  on  a  bold  stroke. 

He  sacrificed  his  own  rest  that  night,  and  in  doing  so 
sacrificed  that  of  certain  others.  Sunset  was  roused  from 
his  equine  slumbers,  as  also  was  Steve  Mason  disturbed  out 
of  a  portion  of  his  night's  rest. 

Gordon  rode  hard  into  Snake's  Fall.  He  wished  to  make 
the  return  journey  before  breakfast.  On  arrival  at  the 
township  he  ignored  every  protest  from  the  operator.  He 
overruled  him  on  every  point,  and  was  prepared  to  back  his 
overruling  with  physical  force. 

Steve  Mason  was  literally  scrambled  into  his  clothes  and 


CASHING  IN  359 

set  to  work  at  those  hated  keys,  and  the  New  York  call  was 
sent  singing  over  the  wires. 

Meanwhile  Gordon  was  left  at  work  upon  a  sheet  of 
paper  upon  which,  after  considerable  thought,  his  diplo- 
matic effort  resolved  itself  into  a  piece  of  superlative  ef- 
frontery. 

And  this  was  the  message  which  startled  his  mother  over 
her  morning  coffee  and  rolls,  and  incidentally  sent  a  cur- 
rent of  furious  feminine  excitement  through  the  entire 
Carbhoy  establishment  at  Central  Park,  like  a  sharp  electric 
storm. 

"Mrs.  James  Carbhoy, 
"New  York. 

"  Gordon's  work  here  beyond  praise.  Boy  has  done  won- 
ders. When  you  hear  all  you  will  be  proud  of  him.  I  am 
with  him  here  now.  Great  events  developing.  Am  most 
anxious  to  form  alliance  with  certain  people  for  financial 
reasons.  Your  influence  required  on  social  side.  You  will 
understand  when  I  say  rich,  desirable  heiress.  Gordon 
needs  persuasion.  Come  at  once.  Special  to  Snake's  Fall. 
Will  meet  you  at  latter  depot. 

"JAMES  CARBHOY/' 

When  this  message  was  handed  to  the  impatient  operator 
and  he  had  carefully  read  it  over,  the  man  looked  up  with 
what  Gordon  regarded  as  an  impertinent  grin. 

His  resentment  promptly  leaped. 

"Say,"  he  cried  in  a  threatening  tone,  "there's  some 
faces  made  for  grinning,  and  others  that  couldn't  win  prizes 
that  way  amongst  a  crowd  of  fool-faced  mules.  Guess 
yours  was  spoiled  for  any  sort  of  chance  whatever,  so  cut 


360  THE  SON  OF  HIS  FATHER 

out  trying  to  make  it  worse  than  your  parents  made  it  for 
you.  Get  me  ?  Just  play  about  on  those  fool  keys  and  set 
the  tune  of  that  message  right,  or  Mr.  James  Carbhoy 's  go- 
ing to  hear  things  quick." 

The  threat  of  the  President  of  the  railroad  was  sufficient 
to  enforce  compliance,  but  Steve  Mason  was  no  respector  of 
persons  outside  that  authority,  and  his  retort  came  glibly. 

"  You  wrote  this,  Mister,  and  —  you  ain't  Mr.  James 
Carbhoy,"  he  said,  with  a  sneer  and  a  half-threat. 

But  Gordon  was  in  no  mood  for  trifling  about  anything. 
He  was  anxious  to  be  off  back  to  the  ranch. 

"  Mr.  James  Carbhoy  is  my  father,"  he  cried  sharply, 
"  and  if  that  don't  penetrate  your  perfectly  ridiculous  brain- 
box  I'll  add  that  I'm  the  son  of  my  father  —  Mr.  James 
Carbhoy.  Are  you  needing  anything,  or  —  will  you  get 
busy?" 

Steve  Mason  decided  to  "  get  busy,"  and  so  the  message 
winged  its  way  over  the  wires. 


THE  END 


RETURN  TO: 


CIRCULATION  DEPARTMENT 
198  Main  Stacks 


LOAN  PERIOD     1 
Home  Use 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS. 

Renewals  and  Recharges  may  be  made  4  days  prior  to  the  due  date. 
Books  may  be  renewed  by  calling  642-3405. 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW. 


f  EB  0  5  zuw 

FORM  NO.  DD6                        UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKELEY 
50M    5-02                                               Berkeley,  California  94720-6000 

